


Heaven on Earth

by RightToFlight



Series: Heaven on Earth Series [1]
Category: Abrahamic Religions, Christian Bible, Christian Bible (New Testament), Christian Bible (Old Testament), Original Work, Religion & Lore - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Lore, Angels, Angst, Archangels, Battle, Bible, Character Development, Enochian, Fallen Angels, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Free Will, Gabriel - Freeform, God - Freeform, Heaven, Lucifer - Freeform, Michael - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Past Violence, Raphael - Freeform, Slice of Life, Swords, War, Weapons, Wing Grooming, Wings, although the bible doesn't have much of a set 'canon', angel - Freeform, uriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 85,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RightToFlight/pseuds/RightToFlight
Summary: The archangels try living on earth and drag the family drama down with them. With a second angelic war brewing, they must learn to overcome the past and move on to their future- easier said than done!





	1. Earth is Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before the story starts!  
> 1\. The current setting is a small house surrounded by many fields in a very small town, but one on the outskirts of a larger town, and past that one is a bustling metropolis. Think, for example, New York City.  
> 2\. This story is heavily focused on character development and how the characters overcome a situation reflecting a past one and become better as a result. I do my best to balance character development with plot and humor, but please let me know if it seems too much of one thing or the other.  
> 3\. This first chapter is very, very short. I realized quickly into writing them that they should be longer. Farther into this story are much longer chapters that I spend several days working on.  
> 4\. When it comes to describing places like Heaven, I tend to fill in the guidelines of how big the area is and the purpose of it. Aside from that, I like to leave the appearance of everything up to the reader. Similarly, the angels (that are main characters) are described with wing color, sometimes their angelic forms, and personality. I leave the image of them up to the viewer intentionally. If you ask me I'd be happy to share my mental image of them, but I try to avoid putting it into writing. I did admittedly in this chapter say that Uriel has long hair- That fits my description of him, but it doesn't have to fit yours.  
> 5\. Lastly: If you love reading this as much as I love writing it, please let me know! I'm always looking for improvement and I strive to post continual updates of this story for myself and it's readers. I really hope you enjoy it and that you can emphasize, love, or at least, mostly agree, with the characters and some of the struggles they face. Thank you for reading Heaven On Earth!

* * *

 

Gabriel has a horn.

Some claim that it will be blown to herald the start of the apocalypse. Some say it signals the second coming of Christ.

Others know its true purpose is to wake up three other angels who are trying to sleep.

Michael is the first to react. He always tries to be the first awake, but it seems this morning he failed. one hand reaches for a sword that isn't there as he tries to defend himself, needing only a moment to realize what has happened.

Uriel is the second to react. He reaches as if for an alarm clock. Upon realizing there is none, he buries his head under a stack of pillows. Maybe if he ignores it, the sound will go away.

Lastly, Raphael enters the kitchen through an open doorway and frowns at his brother. Gabriel is standing upon the counter, one hand on his hips and the other triumphantly holding the horn aloft. His 6 wings flare out behind him, the aquamarine/green color contrasting the white tones of the walls and back-splash. Raphael sighs, his mouth opening, but another voice cuts in over his.

"Gabriel!" Michael storms into the kitchen- the word is fitting, for his eyes seem like lightning, and his deep blue wings like ocean waves tossed about in divine wrath- and stares Gabriel in the eye.

Never hold a staring contest with Michael. He is not above manipulating his image and staring you down with 15 eyes at a time. Gabriel has learned this, and wisely backs down from the confrontation, jumping from the counter.

"I made breakfast." He offered, motioning to a platter of pancakes. Raphael takes a single look and appears to instantly forgive Gabriel.

"I'll go get Uriel," he says, leaving Michael and Gabriel alone to set the table.

"So you figured out how to use the oven?" Michael asked, and his brother nodded.

"It wasn't terribly difficult, I can show you later." He raised his head as Raphael brought Uriel into the room, who was using two red wings to try and cover his ears.

"They're still ringing." He complained to Gabriel, who just pushed a plate of pancakes towards him. 

"Tie your hair back," Michael advised, and Uriel gathered the locks into a ponytail.

"We aren't saying grace?" Raphael seemed confused and Gabriel frowned. 

"'That's for dinner, not breakfast."

"He has a point regardless, Gab." Michael said. He cleared his throat. "Thank for the food, dad, and thanks for making Gabriel semi-decent at cooking." A large blue wing shoved Michael and he laughed, "you're just upset that I could kick your ass any day."

"But can you cook this well?" Raphael asked. Michael frowned.

"Probably not. Alright, I'll make pancakes tomorrow so we can compare. Sounds good?"

"Peachy," Gabriel concluded. Then, after finishing his food, "So uh... Lucifer has invited as to his place for some..." he flicked his wrist and conjured a small slip of paper from seemingly nowhere. 'for some 'revelry and night-long entertainment.'"

"I don't trust him," Michael said immediately.

"Oh come one, Michael, he isn't terrible. It was just the one incident."

"And that one  _incident_ nearly got half of Heaven's host killed! He turned against us. Against god."

"Come one, dad used to be such a dick, remember? I can't blame Luci one bit."

Michael sighed, his wings smoothing and seeming less ruffled than they had been. "Ok, ok, fine. But if he starts recruiting an army again, let me know."


	2. Lucifer Knows how to Party

That evening, when the sky was a dark blue just before the sunset, the 4 archangels gathered on the porch of what looked to be a run-down house with an unkempt lawn.

"Has he not hired someone to care for the place if he doesn't?" Raphael wondered, and Uriel rolled his eyes.

"This is probably a guise to keep people away." He laughed, "but we aren't exactly 'people', are we? Besides, he invited us, so just be a good guest and don't mention it to him." Uriel knocked on the door and it opened immediately. A man stood there, dressed in a sweater and jeans, appearing normal as can be, save for the brightness of his eyes that had an unnerving feeling to them. Uriel stepped back, and not just so that the door could open fully. He felt as they something inside of him was being searched. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it left. 

"Glad you guys could make it!" Lucifer smiled, his teeth arrayed in a perfect white line. This annoyed Uriel constantly. It wasn't unusual for an angel, but how could the angel who was cast from heaven still retain an angelic appearance?

"Glad to be invited," Michael replied stiffly. He wasn't at all relaxed, and it was unfortunately obvious. Gabriel pushed through the door past Lucifer.

"Yeah, what he said!" He shouted behind him as he was followed by Raphael and Uriel. Uriel took hold of Gabriel's arm and dragged him to the dancefloor. Raphael struck up conversation with several angels who were standing around, drinks in hand. Only Michael stood on the porch now, looking at Lucifer without a trace of emotion on his face. After a second that seemed to stretch on far too long, he let slip a smile.

"I missed you."

"I guess there's a first time for everything." Lucifer replied cooly, "that is, the Prince of Angels showing up at the Devils party."

"You invited us." Michael countered, sliding past his brother.

"Don't drink the punch!" Lucifer advised him, smugly adding, "I don't think you can handle the sort of vodka I've added."

Michael, predictable, headed right to the table with the bowl and grabbed the largest glass he could find, which ended up being a flower vase. Raphael hovered (not actually- his wings were a bit too large for the room) nearby, keeping an eye on his elder brother. Gabriel and Uriel were trying to outdo each other on the dance floor. A crowd of fallen angels and angels alike (a few Michael recognized from the war, on both sides of the battle) were spectating, chanting names and rooting opposing angels on. Michael noticed all the lights take on an interesting glow to them. The inside of Lucifer's house appeared to be that of a manor, only a bit more... furnished. Every room Michael could see that wasn't being used for the party was filled with antiques- and not just those from the past few centuries. He saw what he knew to be some scrolls from the Library of Alexandria, and some pelts and skins of creatures that he was 99% sure were extinct and had been for thousands of years. Some old portraits hung on the wall as well, with old and fading ones right next to vintage rock and roll signed posters. His brother had never been organized, except for when it came to warfare.

Oh, the lights were very nice. Raphael was next to him now. Saying something. No, Michael reassured him, he hadn't touched the punch. And he hadn't  _touched_ it, he had drunk it. The two were very different activities. Raphael didn't seem to believe him and dragged his other 2 brothers from the dancefloor, over to Michael.

That's about as much as Michael remembered.

Much later, he awoke in a bed with Raphael looking closely at him. He bolted upright and looked around. To his right was the wall, a shelf just above the bed holding several objects, mostly cards his brothers had given him from past holidays. To his left, two archangels looked equal parts worried and amused.

"What happened?" Michael asked, aware of the blackness in his memory.

"Punch," Gabriel said.

"I was punched?" Michael looked down as if to find injuries on himself, and Uriel shook his head.

"The punch at Lucifer's party. I dunno what was in that but you filled a  _vase_ with it and just started chugging. Michael, you're the sensible one here. Tell me, _what on earth and in heaven_ compelled you to do that."

"Uh..." Michael sorted through his memories of the previous night. "He told me to stay away from the punch and said that I couldn't handle it."

"So you went and proved his point?" Raphael raised a brow, "maybe seeing him isn't a good idea. I think you guys can't get past... the past. Did you know the alcohol I've cleared from your system is enough to kill a human five times over?"

"It's not like I can die." Michael argued, "at least to mortal means. Look, it was kind of stupid. Just... Please tell me you guys were smarter than me."

"Definitely." Uriel said a bit too quickly. "Well, Gabriel won our dance off and I sort of was a little bit upset-"

"SO YOU ADMIT IT!" Gabriel shrieked, "Ha!" 

Uriel shuffled his wings in annoyance, the small sound of feathers rustling drowned by Gabriel's chant of 'I won, I won, I won the dance-off!'. "Anyways, I made some friends and Raphael... Well, he cut things a bit short once he saw you half-passed out on the ground, but he had a good time as well."

Raphael nodded, "Lucifer actually knows how to throw a good party, save for the beverages. The food was delicious and... Better than Gabriel's." Gabriel feigned a hurt expression and Raphael laughed. "Anyways, you're all set to get up and at it, Michael."

"Great," Michael said. "And one more thing, before I go take a walk and clear my head... If we get invited to that place again... Don't let me go."

"No worries, we'll barricade you indoors with a pillow fort and a stack of books." Gabriel said. "Nerd." He whispered under his breath.

"Says the one who knows every American presidential speech by heart." Michael retorted.

"I was bored." Gabriel left the room, "I'm going to get lunch going and totally cook better than Lucifer, just you wait."

Michael got up, his wings stretching as he rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, you do that. I'm going on that walk. Raphael, care to join me?"

Raphael, who was watching Uriel make a fool of himself trying to feed fish by hand, nodded. "I'll tag along." He agreed, "might as well."


	3. Encounters Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael keeps a journal of his encounters with humans and other angels.  
> Currently a filler, but may become its own work.  
> Really the important part of this chapter is the brief introduction of the character Eloriel- Keep an eye on her, haha.

_February 17th_  
  
In the park today, parents going on a walk with a child around 4 years old, maybe 5? Child points to me excitedly saying "momma, momma, the man has wings!"  
I'm happy that she was receptive enough to see them, but even more relieved, that she didn't seen my true form.  
Although, I doubt it's possible to really 'see' disembodied energy in vaguely geometric shapes that defy the dimensions of time and space.

_February 22nd_

So I know Michael wants us to be subtle when we're on earth, but I can't help but pull a miracle or two from my pocket. It's not like they hurt anyone, and people need them. Today I pulled a teenager from a car crash and closed the fatal wounds. On a smaller scale, I reunited a family with their lost cat.  
I think Michael overlooks my healing abilities. Maybe he forgets how vital they were in the war?   
If only he would let me heal him from the past. I think I could. I know I should. So why can't I?  
It would be stealing his memories from him, that's why. And I can't do that.

_March 16th_

Found an angel working at Starbucks (getting a coffee for Uriel who was too busy to go out). Name is Eloriel. She saw my wings as I entered and her eyes went wide as a coffee cup (not really but... well, metaphors. Note to self, study metaphors, they seem useful). I don't think she had seen other angels in a while, so when an archangel strolls into the shop... I'm be surprised as well.  
We exchanged a few words. At least, I did. For the most part I just answered lots of questions.  
"So you're Archangel Raphael?" Yes. "Woah, wait, so the others are living here on earth?" Something like that. "You've gotten to actually see dad?" Aside from living in his very essence for hundreds of years, yeah, we talk face to face occasionally.  
Ok, well, not in the last few thousand years. I guess dad's sort of given up on us. Or he's just smashing some planets together and ignoring us.  
I got Uriel's coffee at last, and Eloriel gave me her number. She probably has more questions.

_May 9th_

Last month was busy for everyone. Spring cleaning is apparently a human tradition, but it just seems dumb. Gabriel was fascinated, of course, and dragged us into helping.  
There was a robbery at the local convenience store. I prodded the medics into the right direction, but I think the 'first responders' really deserve the credit, not I or the doctors. They did what I would have done if I were there.  
Does liking them make me a hypocrite? Maybe, but self-evaluation is an important tool.  
And if that fails... I can call Eloriel.


	4. A Meeting of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the urging of Michael, Gabriel rounds of angels on Earth for a meeting. He's shocked by what it entails.

Two hours ago, Gabriel took flight.

He was still flying.

He could cover miles in a second, but it took time to find an angel, inform them as to Michael's plan, and then get them to agree. Gabriel hadn't spent much time in the air. Now, he made a quick descent into a crowded city. The angels there would hopefully see him and approach him. Otherwise, he'd have to look around and spend even more time frustrated.

Thankfully, the two angels in the city saw him. And to be fair, 6 large green/blue wings attached to a body, falling from the sky, is a very hard sight to miss. Gabriel saw them take note and landed himself in front of them. The humans out traveling walked by, unconsciously swerving the spot where he stood.

"Friends," He greeted, "I am Archangel Gabriel. I am here to inform you that Archangel Michael is calling a meeting and expects all angels who can attend to be at our residence this evening- 4 pm, Eastern Standard Time." He gave them the coordinates of their house.

"It's wonderful to meet you." The taller of the two angels said. He was skinny and had dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and lavender wings. The second was female, with pixie-cut blonde hair and gray/green eyes. Her wings were a peach color, fading to brown near the base.

"I'm Zariel," she said, "my brother is Andrael."

"Will you be at the meeting?" Gabriel asked, hoping his time hadn't been wasted.

"Of course, we will be present."

"Then I look forward to it. Goodbye, for now, Zariel, Andrael." Gabriel launched into the air again, seeking the next city where he knew angels resided.

-~-~-

Five hours later, the house was abuzz with preparations.

"Raphael, I don't think it matters what color you wear. Just go with gray, that will match anything." Gabriel advised. Uriel was in conversation with Michael, and Gabriel took a step closer to hear the discussion.

"Of course he isn't invited." Uriel said, "Don't worry. I know hosting a few hundred angels isn't ideal, but holding a meeting back in Heaven is just too much trouble to go through. Besides, our siblings on earth need to be on the same page- all of us."

"Right, right. Separate states of affairs, I understand. Hey, Gabriel! Did you get a count on everyone coming?"

Gabriel crossed the room, his wings pulled in so nothing was knocked off the counter. He joined Michael and Uriel before smiling warmly and replying. "We can expect around 345 angels to be attending. Do you want a list of names?" Gabriel had been meticulously organized, carefully writing the names of all angels who would be attending. He planned on checking the names off as they arrived so no one snuck in.  
  
Yea, that plan didn't work so well. Possibly because there was no way to tell- Gabriel lost the list somewhere in a pile of clothing as he scrambled to find a suitable outfit. Michael insisted that they wear a modern style of the suit instead of the robes and loose fabrics they once wore centuries past. It was a smart idea but made choices far more difficult. Gabriel decided on a black suit with a teal tie, Michael chose a dark blue suit to match his wings, Uriel wore a bright red suit that hurt everyone's eyes, and Raphael took Gabriel's advice with a gray suit, but decided to not bother with a tie because finding a good color was still 'too stressful'.

While Raphael went on to make sure they had enough snacks (because these meetings can take anywhere from five hours to five days), Gabriel made sure they had room. Michael had checked with their dad to make sure the meetings was an okay idea, and they were granted a large room in the house with which to host. It was invisible from the outside, the house appearing normal, but resembled a large circular room with rows of seats and a podium once you entered. He made sure the seats would be enough (and they were, thankfully), and then went outside with Uriel to wait for our guests to arrive.

"So, Michael's got his speech figured out?" He asked, and Uriel nodded. "He's going to thank them for coming, throw in some rambling about how great dad is because they love that sort of stuff, and then go over ways to coordinate the global effort to spread angelic influence."

"Sounds fascinating." Gabriel sighed, crossing his arms and shaking his wings. "I really hope this meeting won't take too long. Last time it took... 11 hours? 12?"

"Too many," Uriel answered. "I'm going to signal the entrance." He lifted a hand and a large circle of small flames appeared on the lawn in front of the two angels. Right away, several angels landed, shaking hands with the archangels and entering the house, where Raphael showed them to the meeting room. As time went on, Gabriel saw angels with no faces, forms that shifted and changed, small wheels of eyes, the cherubim with four faces and four wings, the kind of angles that manifested as pure glowing lights. They may have all taken on a human form, but he could see past the guise to the truth below it.

"Let's hope they all get along in the same room." He mentioned to Uriel before following the last of them inside. Uriel was to the seat right of the podium, Gabriel just in front, and Raphael to the left. Michael stood behind the podium, with wings a sharp contrast to the white wall behind him. He raised a hand for silence and waited for the chatter to settle.

"Let this meeting be called to begin by myself, Archangel Michael, Leader of the Heavenly Host, Chief and Commander of Angels. Witnessing the meeting: Archangel Gabriel, the Strength of God; Archangel Uriel, the Light of God, and Archangel Raphael, the Healing of God. With the blessing of our father, the meeting continues." He took a breath, "I thank you all for coming here today, I would not have assembled you if it was not urgent. I have received a message from our father. Lucifer, the angel cast from heaven, is no longer a threat but has left seeds of doubt in the minds of several angels that have fallen. It is they who we must be wary of. And so, we have all been tasked to form a new force against the threat, so that corruption in the ranks of heaven may be stamped out at the root. We must find the fallen among us and take back the second chance they have been given."

This was the first time Gabriel had heard of this, and he struggled to keep a straight face. If Lucifer had left remnants of an army behind, it meant not only that the angels had failed in the last war, but that another war was approaching.

The last war lasted hundreds of years. Human civilizations fell left and right as a result. Records of the time were lost, landmarks destroyed. Lucifer's forces had nearly destroyed the angels fighting for heaven. He had placed the names of his followers onto his wings, so that their deaths would only make him stronger. Michael had at last went one on one with Lucifer, winning, and cast Lucifer and his angels from heaven, the gates sealed against them.

If another battle like such broke out a second time, humanity would be set back thousands of years. He wasn't the only one thinking that obviously because the assembly of angels broke out in anxious mutterings.

"I wish to assure you now: This meeting is to prevent a war from happening. And I will not lie- If war breaks out, we will lose many. We may see a repeat of the first war. But we can be assured of several things." Michael leaned forward over the podium, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Lucifer's angels do not have an archangel fighting for them this time! And here in the host of heaven, there are 4 archangels that will fight for us, myself included. We outnumber them in angels as well! The Seraphim, the Virtues, the Cherubim, the Thrones- In every Choir of Heaven, we outnumber them! My brothers, sisters, siblings, we have hard work ahead of us to stop what fighting could be, but it is entirely possible."

Gabriel began to tune out the fluff that Michael was spewing now. Fighting for God (their father) and Heaven (their home) and freedom (which was a big sham, anyway. Free will was given to humans, not to the angels. The only reason the angels were preparing to fight was that God told them to. Gabriel loved his father, of course, but could kind of see why Lucifer was... the way he was.)

Snacks were passed out by several angels who's true forms looked to be giant, whirling disks with ancient writing scrawled along the edges. Michael had called for a recess and Gabriel got up to stretch his legs. He sought out the angels he met on his trip and soon picked out lavender and peach colored wings.

"Zariel, Andrael!" he called, and they spread their wings, gliding down over the seats to reach him.

"Gabriel, how are you? You looked rather bored, for someone with the honor of being in front of Michael." Zariel smiled, casting a glance towards the blue-winged angel. "He's such a great leader, I'm almost excited for the idea of stopping a war."

Gabriel tilted his head. "Was I that obvious, being bored, that is?" He frowned, wondering if his brothers felt the same.

"Just a little," Andrael said. "So, how exactly does he know we outnumber the enemy? I can't say I share the confidence."

"Oh, I helped him run some numbers." Gabriel admitted, "based on the fallen angel count from previously and the probability of Lucifer gaining followers since. It's not the best of leads, but Michael had a point when he said we won't be up against an archangel."

"Which begs the question of how Lucifer could revolt in the first place. Why did dad make an angel powerful and then with the ability of free will? I mean I know he gave it to the humans but-"

"Actually," Gabriel butted in, "the archangels did have free will, for a while. Lucifer changed that. After he turned against us, father was rather quick to strip the privilege from us and assemble an army, leaving only the illusion of freedom. Michael is still a bit touchy about it, you know. I mean, he didn't want to fight his brother. We all loved Lucifer. But there wasn't much of a choice." Gabriel quickly stopped talking. "Please don't spread that information, by the way. I don't think Michael would be very happy with me."

"Of course, I understand." Zariel said, "siblings can be annoying." Andrael glared in her direction.

"Hey, Gabriel!" Michael approached them, smiling at the two angels before facing his brother. "It's time to get back in gear. Do you mind?" 

Gabriel nodded, heading back to his seat. He didn't need a horn to command the attention of angels- a helpful trick when dealing with this many. Opening his mouth, he let out a resounding noise more gentle than a scream but far, far louder. It echoed in the room, bringing all activity to a standstill.

"Please take your seats." He said in the same, booming voice, "the recess is finished and the meeting is about to proceed."

He saw some angels quickly grab more snacks, and he discreetly does the same. There's no telling how much longer this will take...


	5. On the Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How they fight, what they fear.

Raphael is a healer. He doesn't fight as much as his siblings do- But in the first war against Lucifer, he was the one who ended up seeing the most violence. Not the sweat and motion of battle, he was far from that- but he saw the breathing slow as blood bubbled from the lungs, he saw wings peeling from torn flesh. He would never forget the sight of golden hair stained red. He lived in fear of the next to come into his arms, because if they were to die, he would feel as though the death was his fault, and not that of the enemy. Raphael will never stop blaming himself.

But when he has to fight? Well, upsetting Raphael is a mistake, because just as any furious archangel will, he will ensure you meet your doom rather quickly. Or so you wish. In fact, it will end rather slowly. Because Raphael is full of anger. He has little way to take it out and keeps a steady hand when healing his siblings on the battlefield, so the rage he feels just sits quietly, boiling below his calm expression. Don't believe his appearance for a second. He knows every point of the body that is sensitive to any and all types of wound, and he will use that against his opponent to keep them on the verge of consciousness until _he_ deems they have taken enough- never the other way around.

The thing he fears most in battle is wounding someone past his ability to heal, proving himself capable of more harm than good.

  


Gabriel is capable of a rallying cry that can shake the ground. You can see him on the battlefield, sure, but hearing him is far easier. If ever a retreat is called for, it will be heard from his mouth. His trumpet, the symbol of his power, is held in his hand so tight the knuckles turn white, but losing it means losing communication throughout the entire army. Gabriel is a glue, of sorts- flying over war and bloodshed to tie ends of the army together, relaying messages, and crying in a voice so loud it demands the attention of those who listen.

Gabriel fights loudly as well, screaming and grunting to push power into every impact. It's only when he is on the receiving side of injury that he is quiet, biting back screams until the battle is over and he lets loose a guttural noise so primal, raw, and powerful that the enemy shakes in their retreat. He never lets his family hear his pain- But there isn't much he can do to stop showing it.

He fears the loss of his voice above all else, that one day he will use his greatest power and nothing but a whisper will come out.

  


Uriel is supportive, found where the battle is at its peak. His wings blend in with the blood around him, his body covered, but there is where he is most alive. He is the fire and light of God, and it shows in his fighting. He will burn through opponents in short bursts before repositioning, hopping place to place around the battlefield where there is plenty to do. If he can't sink his blades into the enemy, he will carry the slain and injured to Raphael, who exchanges a meaningful look with him.  _I avenged them,_ Uriel tries to communicate, but sometimes he doesn't, and that hurts in a place no one can see.

He will fight until his limbs are burning, until his heart is racing out of his chest, but he pushes through this until he transforms into what an archangel truly is- Large, radiant, and powerful. This is enough to scare himself, but it is needed to win, needed to kill. Only in the heat of battle will he allow this side of him out, the side that has eyes like fire and wings radiating heat like a volcanic crater. He unleashes a blast of flame, and the similarity to the fire of hell does not elude him. He hates the fire that he puts out- but he loves the heat of war.

His biggest fear is losing control, of setting the world ablaze and heaven with it. The angel of light fears his own fire.

  


Michael is a leader. He took down the devil, who wasn't a devil to him, but he had no say in the matter, fighting his family. That haunts him throughout his life, something he can't run from, but running isn't something he does anyway when it comes to battle. Michael would rather face a hoard of enemy angels then allow his siblings to do the same. He has his sword that has been put into legends and stories, whispered about through generations of humans who can never imagine the horrors that the blade has seen. Michael wakes up at night, the hilt in his hand, feeling as if he needs to bury it into something. The feeling passes. His feelings don't.

Michael fights carefully, measuring his paces and setting the speed of the army. He is quick to make decisions, second guessing them only when the battle is done. How many died to his latest mistake? It's probably for the best that he doesn't exactly know. He takes the power of Uriel, the speed of Gabriel, the anger of Raphael- and he embodies it. On the battlefield, Michael is best described as terrifying. There is no emotion on his face, no energy used to express. He is cool and sharp as the sword, and he wins every battle because he has to, because it's that or let down heaven, let down his father, his family, and himself.

Out of everything, he most fears failing to protect his family. He is horrified of disappointing his father. But deep down, though he denies it, he is truly and horribly afraid of having to slay another brother at the command of God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that all of this could be considered 'headcanon'. Just because I see the archangels this way doesn't mean you have to.
> 
> Raphael is a healer, but I figured he would be enraged after seeing his family hurt. Gabriel is a messenger, so I had fun applying that to a battlefield setting. Uriel, admittedly my favorite, was a bit harder, but seeing his connections to fire a fighting style was easy and finding a fear was even easier. Michael of course, being arguably the most complex, was more difficult, but I think I found something that worked. I hope to later on dive into what I imagine would be an anger towards God for making him kill a brother, even if Lucifer had rebelled.
> 
> Also, the whole 'archangels had freewill until Lucifer rebelled, at which point God removed it and made an army' is probably not true. I made that up for the story, and while it makes sense to me, it possibly contradicts the biblical 'canon', I don't know.


	6. Coffee Will be Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs coffee for what is to come. Raphael is kept unknowing.

"Raphael, can I ask a favor real quick?" Michael said from where he sat in the living room. Raphael poked his head around the corner from the kitchen.

"That depends, are you talking a small and fast favor, or like, a 'tell me your deepest, darkest secret' sort of favor?"

Michael leaned forward, putting a cup of water on the table and resting his elbows on his knees. The last time he asked a favor of Raphael is was to find the nearest angels to the archangels so that they could contact each other easier. It hadn't ended well, seeing as the nearest angels were friends of Lucifer. 

"I was wondering if you minded making a trip to get some coffee-" he was cut off as the green-winged angel laughed.

"You're sounding like Uriel now! He asks me the same thing. How about I get some for everyone?" He tilted his head upwards. "GABRIEL!"

A booming response came from upstairs. "RAPHAEL!" Gabriel slid down the banister, jumping off at the end. "What's up?"

"What sort of coffee do you want?"

"Mocha, caramel drizzle. If they put whipped cream on top, I certainly won't complain."

"I'll have French Vanilla," Michael said, a smile on his face. Uriel entered the scene, coming in from a back room with a book under his arm. The title read "Sophia's World."

"Gabriel, I've gotta hand it to you, great choice of book! I think the philosophy is up for debate but the character development was wonderfully paced-" He blinked and looked around, depositing the book on the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Coffee run. You'll take your usual?" Raphael raised an eyebrow and Uriel nodded, his hands crossed in a relaxed position. 

"Black, one scoop of sugar."

"That's nasty," Michael remarked, and Uriel narrowed his eyes in his direction.

"It's to wake up, not to enjoy," he reasoned and sat across from Michael. Reaching forward, he slid a magazine towards him that was open to a crossword puzzle.

Raphael headed towards the door, "and a hot chocolate for me," he said, "with added whiskey because I'll be needing it, I have a feeling." He left the house and Gabriel sat down with the rest of them.

"Ok, what's this actually about? You have that scheming look about you, Michael."

Michael sighed, "we are facing a possible war."

"So Raphael should be here to discuss it with us," Gabriel argued.

"Raphael is not a soldier, he's a healer. You know that." Michael sighed and looked into the eyes of his brothers. "This won't concern his involvement."

"But he will be involved," Uriel said, "even if he isn't on the front lines. Do you know how many wounded I brought to him? Michael, we are all okay with the glory going to you, you deserve it, but Raphael is more than a footnote. He does more than just hang back from the fighting, he keeps our numbers strong and keeps the Host of Heaven rallied together."

"I thought that was my job," Gabriel said, and Uriel shut him up with a glare.

"You both have a point, and I will include Raphael in further discussion. But I wish to discuss some strategic points." His gaze slid to Uriel. "Like, for example, your tendency to rush into battle regardless of the best option. You do wonderfully as a warrior needed where fighting is most intense, but there are times when you miss the obvious breaches in defense. If the fighting isn't intense in one area of the battlefield, it could be because the enemy line has already broken through." He turned his eyes to Gabriel now, who sunk into the chair as if the gaze was pushing him back.

"And you, Gabriel. You perform your duties as a messenger well enough, but you can fight as well. I want to figure out a way to have you engaged more while carrying out your job of relaying messages."

Uriel frowned, "I have an idea, but it could be-"

"I'll hear it," Michael said, his hands spread out acceptingly. Uriel coughed and his wings rattled their feathers. The red color glinted copper at the edges.

"What if Gabriel takes my duty of carrying the wounded?" He offered, "so he spends time in the sky and won't miss signals, and I can do more of the fighting?"

Michael pondered it for a while, and then slowly nodded. "When the first battle breaks out, whenever that may be, we will put the idea into testing," he declared, "if it works, we may continue."

Gabriel nodded, "I'm on board with that." Then he paused, and something seemed to register to him. "Michael... You said you got a message from dad, at the meeting. Did he tell you how he's doing? It's been so long..."

Michael's face fell, turned to the floor. He heaved a deep sigh. "It was... Interesting. I was out flying and I went to that clearing on the mountain, the one we had the picnic at last year? Well, he decided to be cliche and do his whole bush-on-fire thing, I guess he didn't want me to miss him, and he started speaking. He said that he's been keeping an eye on us and our progress being made on Earth, and... he said that he had some important information for me. So I inquired further and he told me about Lucifer's supports, and how just because Lucifer isn't a threat anymore doesn't mean there is no threat at all. I was a bit frustrated though, I mean, he was being rather cryptic as usual, so I asked when we would see him in person again."

"And?" The other two angels leaned in.

"And he said that the outcome of this second war was still unknown to him, just as the first one was. If we don't win this one, then we won't ever see him again, I suppose."

Uriel looked defeated, and Gabriel slammed a fist onto the table. 

"Dammit!" He said, and his voice, while not loud to the angels, was powerful and cracked the glass of water that Michael had on the table. Water began leaking out, but no one moved to fix it.

"You know this is bad, right? Like, incredibly terrible?" He looked at Michael, who nodded. 

"The fact that he cannot see the outcome means... Means death, right?" Uriel looked between them for confirmation. "I mean, since there was a chance of our deaths, it threw him off or something, right?"

"In simple terms, yes, Uriel. If there is a more than 50% chance of an archangel dying, then that has a heavy impact on Metatron."

"I thought he had gone into hiding after the war?"

"Evidently he's with dad. The damn coward. But like it or not, he's technically an archangel, just... By promotion, not birth. He's linked to us stronger than other angels, and if there is a future in which one of us dies, the impact of that ripples to him and therefore to dad, strong enough to affect his view of that future. So the fact that he's unsure means that most likely-"

"One of us will die." Understanding dawned on Uriel's face, his lips forming a hesitant 'O' and his eyebrows lifting momentarily. His face seems frozen before the expression slides off, replaces by blank coolness under which hid emotions Michael could only guess at.

"That won't happen." He said, "but uh, I agree that we shouldn't tell Raphael. He'll take it personally, fretting about having to heal a dying brother. He dealt with that enough last time."

"Speaking of him," Gabriel said, nodding to the front door. They were all quiet, and then by the time the hinges creaked and the door opened, Gabriel was in deep conversation with Uriel about the book and Michael was watching with a look of amusement.

"I got the coffee!" Raphael smiled, bustling in with a positive mood. He handed the styrofoam cups out in order. "Caramel drizzle mocha for Gabriel, French Vanilla for Michael, nasty black coffee with a singular sad spoonful of sugar for Uriel, and hot chocolate with booze for me. Cheers, brothers!" He held his cup and they all met over the table, touching lids before retreating to their respective angels. Raphael sat down in the empty seat and looked at his family, "What did I miss?"

And as the squabbling of Michael's taste in coffee, the book that lay open on the table, and the better basketball team began, Raphael could only laugh, "Forget I asked."

 


	7. Movies, Moves, and Mortal Views

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three brothers bring a friend to the theater, but the real plot twist occurs much later when someone sees more than they should.

"No, absolutely not, out of the question."

Uriel sighed again and resumed his attempts, "Come on, Michael,  _please_?"

"I said no." Michael smiled softly as if to compensate for the harsh tone that had edged into his words. "It's not a good time."

Uriel huffed and retreated to the upstairs room. "No luck," he spoke, met by sighs from the two other angels.

"So he won't come with us?" Raphael asked, a crestfallen look on his face. Uriel shrugged. 

"It's alright, really, we can go by ourselves."

"But we bought four movie tickets." Gabriel waved them inches from Uriel's face as to illustrate his point. "We need one more person." Then, looking positively delighted, he whirled around to face Raphael, nearly smacking Uriel with his wings.

"Why do I have a feeling the next word out of my mouth is going to be no?" Raphael asked before Gabriel could start.

"Hear me out, dude. Who was that girl who gave you her number?" At this, Uriel raised a brow. He hadn't heard of this before. A part of his brain was worried and refused to quiet down at the prospect of an angel being with a human in a way beyond friendship. Raphael looked away with pressed lips before glancing up again.

"Eloriel? Maybe..." He sounded uncertain, but his eyes were narrowed in contemplation. Uriel let out a breath as he heard the name of an angel. 

"Is she nice?" He asked, hoping to drag further details from Raphael.

"We met at the coffee shop briefly, so I dunno..." His hand twitched, however, and with a smile creeping over his features, he picked up his phone. "Alright, I'll invite her."

Gabriel and Uriel watched excitedly as the phone rang. After 3 ringing noises, the angel on the other side picked up.

_"Hello_ _?"_

Raphael glanced at them before speaking, carefully forming each word as if forming a single sentence was the hardest task of his life.

"Hey, is this Eloriel?"

 _"Who's asking?"_ The voice responded, confusion evident.

"It's Raphael, from the coffee shop across the street from the library."

A fumbling noise crackled through the phone and Eloriel spoke again,  _"Yes, this is Eloriel. It's wonderful to hear from you again!"_

"Eloriel, I was wondering if you wanted to join me and a few of my brothers on a trip out to watch a movie? We bought 4 tickets but Michael's too busy to come." He looked at the other 2 angels and crossed his fingers, waiting for the response that came a few moments later than it should have.

_"I'd be happy to! What movie and where?"_

"Arena of Anarchy, at the theater by the hospital, you know the one? I think it's called-"

_"Colin Carr Cinema, I know the place. What's the movie about?"_

"Uh... Hang on, I'm handing the phone to my brother Gabriel, he knows more." Raphael handed it to Gabriel as he heard Eloriel saying _"Wait, the Archangel Gabriel?"_. 

"She wants to know what the movie's about." He explained.

Gabriel took the phone eagerly, "Hey Eloriel! The movie is about Ancient Roman gladiators who start a rebellion and takes the viewer into an alternate timeline where the freed gladiators take over the government."

_"Sounds interesting! And it's wonderful to meet you too, Gabriel."_

He handed it back to Raphael. Uriel was watching with interest.

"We can meet there in an hour and a half, is that alright?"

_"Sounds wonderful, I'll bring money to get the snacks since you've purchased the tickets."_

"I won't object to that. See you then." He took the phone down from his ear and hung up. Uriel smiled widely, raising his brows. Raphael ducked his head, "Guys, she's a friend. I know what you're thinking and it won't happen."

"We'll see," said Uriel, with the expectant tone of someone who just predicted the final romantic pairing of a show's characters before the first season is over. After binge-watching Game of Thrones with his brothers, he knew all too well how romances ended. Death or sex. And since they couldn't die all that easily, he was feeling rather confident for his brother's chances.

"Let's get ready." He added, standing up from his position on a pile of pillows. They were in the upstairs study, which Michael refused to enter due to the fact that the other 3 claimed it as their own. Uriel's corner had a strong wood desk with a laptop, a few mugs, a red desk lamp, and a bulletin board full of pictures, most of his family. Hidden away in a drawer was a copy of the Bible, heavily annotated with sticky notes and loose papers sticking out of it. A stack of books covering battle tactics was pushed under the desk, and currently open next to the laptop was a high school science textbook that he had been studying.

Next to that was Gabriel's space, which had a table entirely covered in pages from comic books, pasted together into a collage of images. Over the surface was a large computer with a headset and speakers, and the mousepad was an enlarged image of Gabriel's face. Stuck to the wall with mismatched thumbtacks were music sheets and old shopping lists, as well as a few documents that weren't in English or any other known language. That wasn't all too uncommon when it came to Gabriel.

Raphael was fretting about his own area, opening several of the random boxes and chests that were stacked and littered around it. One of them had an array of ties, the other stuffed socks. Those that didn't hold clothing held papers, coins that were out of date and unusable, and several old water bottles he never got around to throwing away. A tablet was propped up on the desk and currently playing a two-hour loop of ambiance, which Raphael now reached over to pause. He put the tablet on top of the first aid kit that rested on the edge of the desk and dragged more boxes towards him before looking in the closet. He vanished into it, only to come out with a button-up shirt and jeans, going to a casual look. Gabriel, having left the room to change, came shortly after in a purple shirt and black pants, and finally, Uriel entered from the bathroom with an orange sweater and brown pants.

"Looking alright," Gabriel commented, and Raphael nodded.

"The both of you as well. Let's go, then, shall we?"

With a cheerful goodbye to Michael, who was still on the couch with a book about Alexander the Great, the trio of angels left the house and glanced at Uriel, the second oldest.

"Are you taking a car or flying?" Asked Gabriel, hoping for the latter. Uriel looked up and shrugged. 

"Flying, I suppose." No sooner than the words left his mouth, Gabriel was twenty feet up with his green-turquoise wings outstretched, all 6 of them beating one pair after the other to hover still. His hands were crossed over his chest. 

"Are you coming?"

A streak of red shot upwards and Uriel was flying as well, and not even a second later Raphael was in the air, emerald green wings stirring the air. Uriel took the lead, and the other 2 brothers rode his trail side by side, talking the entire way there.

"Is she nice?" Gabriel asked, and Raphael shrugged the best he could. Their wings dipped down, obscuring his view of Gabriel until they lifted again.

"She's... Talkative. Asks a lot of questions. I mean, she means well, but..."

"But you're, like, the opposite of talkative?"

"Not true!" Raphael protested, pivoting in flight to have his body tilted and facing Gabriel. "I can be plenty talkative!"

Gabriel was about to respond when the gust of air they had been riding dropped away and they struggled to keep in flight before following Uriel into a descent. As usual, the humans ignored them completely, something that Uriel always marveled at. He waited for his brothers to catch up with folded wings, tapping a foot on the sidewalk.

"Don't give me that look," he told Raphael, "you two weren't paying attention." He turned and walked briskly towards the theater, and the others followed hurriedly. Raphael's head was looking every which way trying to find Eloriel.

It turned out not to be very hard. She caught sight of them from where she was waiting in line, two silver wings extended into the air and waving the angels other. Raphael pushed ahead to take the lead and waved.

"Hey Elo-"

"I go by Ella when I'm around them." She motioned to the humans in the theater.

"I go by Eric," Uriel said, "they never really took my name into society as their own, unlike my brothers."

"Good to see you again, Ella," Raphael said, switching over to the fake name easily. "These are my brothers Uriel, that is, Eric, and Gabriel."

Eloriel seemed a bit taken aback but recovered smoothly, shaking their hands. "It's wonderful to meet you in person, that is, not in a situation like the meeting a few weeks back. So, what sort of candy do you guys like?"

"I'll have Sour Patch Kids," Gabriel was quick to request, and Raphael looked through his options.

"Er, I'll take M&Ms." He smiled as he straightened up, having bent to see the display. "What about you, brother?"

Uriel swept his gaze across the counter, "I'll have a medium popcorn," he said, carefully moving his wings aside as a person stood next to them to order tickets.

"Alright, give me a minute." Eloriel beamed and handed the cashier the money, taking the candy as they came across the counter. "Sour Patch Kids, M&Ms... Popcorn for you, Eric. Let's go see a movie!"

And so, five minutes later, they were seated and waiting for previews to end. Uriel had bought seats in the back row so that they could spread out their wings safely. Even if humans couldn't comprehend that wings were there, they could still have difficulty seeing through them. Eloriel sat between Raphael and Gabriel, and Uriel sat to Raphael's right. The previews ended and a silence fell over the audience as the first scene began to play out, showing a battle in a crowded coliseum. The swings of the swords and clang of the blade on armor were interrupted by a crunching noise that carried through the theater.

"Dude," Raphael whispered to Uriel, "eat that a little quieter, would you? And I thought Gabriel was the loud one." He was met with a piece of popcorn to the face, but Uriel did chew slower and with less noise. The movie proceeded wonderfully, and when the credits rolled they stood and stretched their legs and wings as best they could, filing in line to exit behind a family of five that occupied the row in front of them.

"That was far better than I thought it would be!" Eloriel gushed, "The plot, the drama- I mean, I thought that when the aqueduct nearly collapsed they were done for but-"

"-But he remembered the location of the plans just in time to redirect the course of the battle!" Gabriel finished, and he grinned at Eloriel, who angled her path to walk a bit closer to him. "Sounds like something Michael would love if he had time to see a movie. He's been so busy lately, obviously. Anyways, I'm happy to have seen the movie with you.

They were exiting the theater, and Raphael was finishing Uriel's popcorn. Gabriel and Eloriel currently walked a few paces behind them, discussing the movie.

"Who played that guy with the curly hair and scar on his chin? The one that had the name no one can pronounce? He was pretty hot." Eloriel took out her phone to look it up and nearly tripped over the curb. Gabriel stuck a wing out in front of her before she went over, and she stood upright again. 

"Allow me." He took her phone and instead of searching for a name, went to her contacts and put himself in as 'The Cooler Brother'. Getting it back from him, Eloriel took one look and laughed.

"Really? Well, you're certainly bolder than Raphael."

"Always have been, always will be. But if you happen to have an eye on him, I won't interfere."

"I'm not really looking for anyone right now, but," she held up the phone, "it seems I have a few options for when I am." She looked at Uriel suddenly. "Um, where are we going anyways?"

Uriel stifled a laugh, realizing that she had been aimlessly following him without thinking. "I was thinking we could spend some time in the park," he said, "there's a human woman named Samantha who feeds the birds there, I've taken to joining her."

"I'd love to," Eloriel decided, "and I have no plans for today anyway, although I'll have to be home later. I'm staying with a human girl who's going to show me her favorite TV shows, and I'd hate to not be there for that."

"Understood," said Uriel, "the park is just around the corner here."

They entered the square of trees and grass, walking around a small pond in the center. Sure enough, a woman who seemed to be in her late 40's was tossing seeds and small bits of dried fruit out to the birds, a mix of finches and chickadees.

"Eric, you're here as usual," she smiled warmly, "and you brought friends?"

"My brothers, Raphael and Gabriel. This is our friend Ella." He sat on the bench beside her and she let him reach into her bag, then held it to the other 3.

"Don't be shy, the birds certainly aren't."

Gabriel reached in immediately, reaching down and holding out dried apple. A bird made a break for it but diverted it's course when his hand twitched. Gabriel frowned and then shrugged, deciding to toss it down like the others were doing.

"Oh, they're fighting over that one!" Raphael said, noticing several birds pecking at the same piece.

"That does happen," Samantha said, and she leaned back. "Feeding them helps me relax, you know. The world is so busy!" She looked to them, "I'm sure you all understand."

"All to well." Uriel nodded, "I have a brother named Michael, and he's great and all, but never seems to stop, or, you know, rest."

"Not sure if he ever sleeps," Gabriel jested.

"I have a sister like that." Samantha said, "she's back in school now, studying law. Never really stops either."

Eloriel was whistling to some birds as they fed on her hand, and Samantha looked in awe, "They really love you, huh?" She remarked, "I've only gotten them to do that several times before. You must be something extraordinary." She stood up, looking at the angels again, and her eyes squinted as if emerging from darkness into light before they widened and stared at something Uriel didn't know a human could stare at.

"Ella... Eric... All of you, why..." Her hand reached out and Uriel's heart impossibly skipped a beat as her hand brushed against feathers. "Why do you have wings?"

 


	8. Wings Aren't the Only Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eloriel gets more and more involved with the upcoming war.

"Why do you have wings?" Samantha's hand traced the red feathers of Uriel's wings, shock on her face, which was just as equally apparent on the face of the angels.

"Oh dear father up above," Gabriel spoke, his wings spreading out, "you see them?" He moved them side to side and watched as her hand followed them, and then let them still. Uriel watched, his breathing coming in faster than it was even while flying.

Her hand moved to his and then hovered in the direction of Raphael and Eloriel. "They're amazing..." Her breath shook and she swayed on her feet. Raphael sprinted forward with angelic speed, catching her in his arms as she slipped into unconsciousness. He looked up to his brothers and then to Eloriel. Mortals in the park passed by, unaware, but the angels stood in awed silence.

"You're thinking what I am, right?" He asked, and Uriel, the second oldest and therefore in charge at the moment, stepped forward and examined the mortal.

"We must bring her to Michael." He announced, and looked to Eloriel, "you must join us." He spoke with certainty.

She let out a noise that was a mix of a squeak and an 'eep', her wings curled forward in a defensive move acting from instinct and emotion alone. Her face peered from between silver feathers. "I-I'm sorry, you mean, actually seeing him? Speaking to him? Michael as in Archangel Michael?"

"Trust me, he's a total nerd with too many suits," Gabriel assured her, and she shook her head in disbelieve. 

"But why must I-"

"Because a  _mortal_ has seen your  _wings_ , as well as ours!" Uriel's tone was harsh, but he sighed and seemed to soften immediately afterward. "You will fly back with us. Let's go. Raphael, would you bring Samantha?"

Raphael nodded and the 4 angels took to the air. Eloriel was a tad slower, with 2 wings instead of 6, but they made good time getting back to the house. Landing in the driveway, Uriel approached the door and had to step back as it was flung open. The door hit the wall with a loud banging noise, and Michael stood before them with harsh fire in his eyes.

"What's wrong? Something is wrong, I know it is." He looked around and saw Samantha in Raphael's arms, as well as Eloriel who was trying to fit behind Gabriel. His eyes seemed to glow white and the air around him seemed to grow tense and on the edge of snapping. "Come inside," Michael said, and it was phrased as more of an order than a request.

Samantha was set down on a chair in the lounge, and the angels all sat on a long couch across from a single chair in Michael's office, which was kept impossibly clean and neat with no signs that it was ever really used, despite the frequency Michael was in it. The majority of the furniture was white or gold, colors inspired strongly by heaven, and a large clock ticked in the background, interrupted by the strange crackles of energy from Michael, who was  _furious_. He was seated on the chair, his hands clenched and his wings expanded in an obvious display of dominance. To Eloriel it was probably intimidating beyond measure, but the other archangels knew that when Michael felt like things were out of his control, he would try to wrestle them back into control. This was his way of doing that.

The problem was, Michael's true form kept flickering into sight and out of it. A mass of spinning disks and columns of heavenly light, eyes that glowed with divine power, and an aura of sorts that allowed no doubt towards his status as 'Prince and Commander of Angels.' This was a bit too effective at its purpose and Eloriel was shrunk back in her seat, her wings pressed to her sides in an effort to appear smaller. Even in his bodily form, a halo like a disk of light shone from behind his head, like how he was depicted in old paintings or stained glass.

" **She can _see_ them?**" Michael thundered, shocked and angry. " **That shouldn't be possible.** "

"But it is, we all saw it. Michael, she touched mine. That shouldn't be possible, but it happened." Uriel leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"This doesn't have to be a bad thing," Raphael said, and Michael turned his gaze to the healer.

" **Explain,** " he commanded, and Raphael nodded.

"Well, if Samantha can see angels, then she can possibly find those who have allied with Lucifer. A mortal looking for angels... Well, no one will think to look for such a thing."

The room was silent save for the crackle that continued and Michael slowly nodded. 

"The problem is getting her to go along with it," Raphael said, and Michael raised a brow.

" **If she can see us in our forms, I don't think the task of persuading her will be difficult.** "

"We can't just terrorize her, brother," Gabriel argued, "her mind could break under such pressure. And besides, someone will be needed to assist her. The rebel angels could be anywhere and she can't fly."

Michael's eyes glowed again as he scanned the angels seated on the couch.

" **We have someone.** " His gaze fell on Eloriel, whose head shot up and met his gaze before flinching and looking away.

"Pull it in a bit, brother," Uriel urged, and Michael closed his eyes, the light and halo fading and the energy in the air stilling. He opened his eyes, which had returned to normal.

"Eloriel," He spoke, his tone carefully communicating a request. It wasn't, not really, but Uriel was right. She was still just an angel and couldn't handle him at full power, that was obvious. Michael felt a bit guilty for his previous display. His wings, however, remained outstretched, the deep blue shining like an ocean in the sunlight.

"Y-yes?" She asked, meeting his gaze more carefully.

"I am assigning you a task for the war effort." He said, and Eloriel's entire demeanor shifted with those words. She sat straighter, her wings loosened and relaxed, and she pushed the doubt from her mind to make it clear. 

"I'm listening," she said.

"You will accompany the mortal Samantha and help her identify angels that are allied with Lucifer. If they are those who fell in the first war, they will be missing several primary feathers, that is, they will have clipped wings. Those who have recently changed loyalties will likely, if this time is similar to the last, be missing a single feather, possibly more. Going against the wishes of heaven has consequences for each time one does so." Michael thought back on the angels he had fought centuries ago, their wings failing as they fought heaven. But with each angel's death, Lucifer had become stronger. It was only after years that Michael managed to cast him out of heaven permanently.

Eloriel sat still, pondering the task she had been given. She felt compelled to accept, but she knew that to some degree, Michael was giving her a choice. To participate in the war... She was a young angel who needed to prove herself. She had never seen war like the other's in the room had, them being as old as time. She looked to Michael again and nodded.

"I will do as you ask, Archangel Michael." She rolled his name off her tongue in the angelic pronunciation that not many used in modern times. Mike-ay-el. It seemed to take him by surprise- the last time he heard that used was when his father told him of the upcoming war.

"Thank you," he said after a heavy pause. "Please, stay a while. Gabriel, would you show her your skill in cooking? I'm sure we could all use some food right now."

Gabriel realized how hungry he was after the angelic confrontation. He nodded and helped Eloriel stand, as she was still unsteady on her feet after the conversation. He was more than happy to make some food- and wasn't about to say no after the display of power Michael had shown. He loved his brother, but Michael could be intimidating as his father sometimes, which was saying something. He helped Eloriel to the kitchen.

"I'll stay with Samantha," Raphael said, and Michael nodded. 

"I'll be in the living room," Uriel said, rather eager to leave the room, and he vanished into the hallway. He could hear drawers being opened in the kitchen and faint conversation.

In the kitchen, of course, Gabriel was making a tray of sandwiches and Eloriel was helping him, getting mayonnaise from the fridge.

"He's, uh... Even more intimidating up close." She got a knife and began preparing slices of bread. Gabriel sighed.

"He's just trying to feel in control, it's important to him. I can't begin to imagine how stressed he is. A fight could break out any day now." Gabriel froze, his hand stilling from slicing a tomato. His mind slipped from his grasp and took him back to the first war, a feeling of terror racking his body as he remembered how they had fought. Remembered the echoes of his horn as he soared over bloodshed and carnage.

"Gabriel?" Eloriel asked, concerned. "Gabriel!"

He turned to look at her, the hand around his knife white at the knuckles. His breath shook and she took a step back. Gabriel's head lowered as he began to breathe normally. 

"Eloriel, if there is another war..." He folded his arms on the counter and lowered his head into them, hunched over, "thousands will die." He tilted his head and his eyes met hers. "You're young, that cannot be denied. You haven't had to fight. Heaven above, you're on earth with us! It's just stupid that... That the angels who know earth the best have yet to be drafted into the heavenly force. A whole generation of angels that lacks fighting experience, formal training." Then his eyes widened. "Oh dear. Uriel. If angels have to be trained, then he'll have to return to heaven to do it. That means he'll be unable to carry on earthly duties which, means the responsibility will fall to me." He sighed, "I'm a messenger, for heaven's sake, not a leader!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but, doesn't Michael do the leading?" She was back to the regular 2 syllable pronunciation. "You just have to back him up, then, right?"

"And help him make decisions that will literally influence the outcome of an entire war." He resumed making food, lost in thought. "If this was a perfect world, no one would have to fight. But at this point, it's inevitable. I'm going to speak with Michael after lunch."

The other angels were eventually called to lunch by a very shaken Gabriel. Despite the severity of the conversation, he smiled towards Eloriel. "Check this out." Then, in the booming voice that only he could truly use, his words rang through the entire house. " _Lunch is ready!_ "

Eloriel gasped but smiled back at him, taking it upon herself to set up five plates and placing the tray of sandwiches down in the center of the table as the angels entered. Michael sat at the head of the table, with Uriel to his right and Gabriel to his left. Next to Uriel sat Raphael and across from him, next to Gabriel, sat Eloriel. Michael didn't bother saying any form of grace, he simply took several sandwiches from the tray and the others followed suit.

"Thanks, Gabriel, and you too, Eloriel." Despite tending for a passed out mortal, Raphael was in a great mood. He bit into the food and a smile spread over his face.

"So, you guys usually eat together?" Eloriel asked Gabriel.

"Most of the time, yes. Sometimes we eat separately at different times," he explained. He took a sandwich and ate quickly, eager to talk. He then asked Eloriel a question, speaking for the table to hear. "So, where have you been staying?"

Eloriel seemed startled by the question, but she set down her food and pondered an answer. "Well," she started, "I've been renting an apartment and I have a job at a Starbucks. Not needing to eat often and not feeling temperature saves on expenses, makes me glad to be an angel that's for sure." She reached for her glass of water and took a sip just as Michael spoke.

"I would like it for you to stay here with us. The choice is yours, Eloriel, but if Samantha finds a rebel it would be easier to report back to a place you are living at."

Eloriel nearly choked on the water, slamming down her glass in shock. 

"It... It's a kind offer, Michael-" The 3 syllable pronunciation was back. The archangels had realized by now that it was a gesture of respect or formality, hence Eloriel's use of it. "-But I don't know if I can leave my roommate."

"We can pay her rent," Michael offered, "all anonymously, of course. Heating bills, electricity, all of that."

Eloriel considered the offer. She had a mortal friend... But a war was approaching, and she needed to be with her own. She looked at Michael and hesitantly nodded. "I accept your offer."

Michael smiled, charming as ever. "Wonderful. You can stay in the guest room. If you turn right upstairs it's the third door on the right."

"Be prepared for chaos," Raphael said, "this place can be crazy."

"I can handle crazy," Eloriel said, "this whole day has been crazy."

Raphael froze and then sighed. "Samantha's awake." He said, standing up and finishing his sandwich. No one questioned how he knew that. "I'll go check on her."

Michael leaned towards Uriel. "Please show Eloriel to the guest room," he requested. Uriel got up and left, Eloriel in tow. Finally, Michael turned to Gabriel.

"So," he said, "something tells me you want to talk."


	9. Heaven Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels rise to honor and to home.

"Can we take this conversation to your study?" Gabriel asked, and Michael frowned but nodded after consideration.

"Alright, sure." The two angels made their way upstairs and Michael took the same seat he had before lunch, Gabriel across from him. The light of the sun came through the windows, making the room brightly lit and entirely inappropriate for the serious conversation about to ensue.

"So, what's going on?"

Gabriel sighed and leaned back. "I understand in father's absence since the first war, your position of power has been hard. Lots of choices to make. I just want to make sure you keep making the right choices. Michael, we have an entire generation of angels with no fighting experience. If the war comes to the gates again, we may lose."

"They do not have an archangel on their side this time, Gabriel."

"No, but they may well have the numbers. There is no way of knowing. Like it or not, there has to be some sort of training implemented. You understand that much, I know."

"And you realize that if Uriel leaves to train the younger angels, you assume his position of control? Then with first and second in command positions filled, we will have only one other on earth, that is, Raphael, to support the Archangel force."

"What about Eloriel?"

"Eloriel?" Michael seemed genuinely confused, his wings leaning forward as he moved to hear better as if his ears failed him previously."Are you saying... That we give Eloriel some sort of-"

"Promotion." Gabriel said, "I mean, it happened to Metatron right? He was a normal angel until he moved up in the ranks?"

"I don't have that kind of power, Gabriel, not that sort of a promotion." He paused, then looked curiously towards Gabriel. "Do you know what choir she is in?" He referred to the 9 choirs of angels that resided in Heaven, ranks of sorts in a cascading structure.

"I think she's Cherubim? We would have to ask."

"So we could possibly provide her enough power to become Dominion or Power," Michael explained. The Dominion angels, to give an example, were fourth in rank among the angelic choirs, only 3-4 below that of Archangel (depending on what source you found, the modern times had changed perceptions).

"That could be enough for her to help us on earth," he continued, "we can't go around and make archangels, but we can organize help. Call Uriel here, would you?"

Gabriel opened his mouth, the sound directed towards his brother. " _Uriel!"_ His brother was quick to enter the room.

"Everything okay?" He asked, seating himself next to Gabriel.

"We need to know if you're okay with returning to heaven and training angels for war," Michael informed him without answering his question, and Uriel looked panicked. His wings jolted, brushing Gabriel's side until they regained control.

"I mean yes, I am, but... have things gotten so serious?"

"Serious enough that we need to arrange our forces into something resembling a proper army, yes. Can you do it?"

"I can," Uriel affirmed with a nod, "shall I go now?"

"After dinner tonight you will leave. I'll open the gates for you," Michael said. Then he sighed and tilted back in his chair, his wings uncomfortably squished below him as he ignored them and desperately wished to become one with the pillow behind him. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, and now that it is, I find myself almost unable to believe it."

"Same here," Gabriel chorused and then frowned. "Wait, if this is happening... Michael, this will draw attention. The absence of an archangel's power on earth, even if we elevate that of Eloriel's, I mean, people will take notice. We don't know what could happen. And now that I think about it, perhaps the angelic power on earth is messing with things, maybe that's why Samantha could see our wings."

"As long as she doesn't see our true forms," Michael said, "speaking of her, though, we have to go see her. Perhaps you two could fill Raphael and Eloriel in on the plans while I go talk to the mortal?"

Uriel stood up, and Gabriel followed, looking at his brother like it was the last time they would see each other- which it nearly was. Once they left the room, the door closed on its own and they parted ways.

 

In the lounge, Michael sat next to Samantha, who kept staring at his wings. "How are you feeling, Samantha?" He asked, and Samantha didn't answer. He tried again, from another angle. "My name is Michael, I think my brothers told you of me. And they tell me you met at the park feeding birds?" When there was still no response, Michael shifted his wings and watched her eyes following. He finally folded them behind them and gestured to his face. "Here, Samantha."

Her gaze flickered up towards his face as if seeing it for the first time, but her eyes kept hovering over his shoulders, hoping for another look at the brilliant blue feathers.

"Samantha, focus, please. My name is Michael, do you know me?"

"You're an angel." She managed to fix her gaze at his, "Raphael told me. And there's Gabriel, Eric-"

"His name is Uriel, and the girl I believe you know as Ella is named Eloriel. Uriel and Eloriel, got that?" He watched Samantha nod, her eyes unfocused as if her mind was a world away.

"But you're an angel," she said again, "o-or some kind of monster, I don't know what else to say, I mean-" If she was anything similar to Gabriel, she wouldn't be able to shut up once she started talking, so Michael cut her off again.

"I am. An angel, that is, far from a monster. You are Samantha, I am Michael, and I am an angel. I need you to keep those facts straight because I am about to give you a handful more. Can you handle that?" He watched carefully, looking for signs of doubt, but after a moment's consideration, she nodded with determination in her eyes.

"I am Archangel Michael, which means I am the chief of angels. Going downwards by age, my brothers are Uriel, Gabriel, and Raphael. The other angels that exist are either in Heaven or on Earth, but most of us are in Heaven. Good so far?"

"Does this mean God is real?" Samantha asked quickly, and Michael paused. It was an unspoken rule to never directly tell a mortal that God existed, but Samantha was about to get wrapped up in an angelic war. So pushing aside the part of him that screamed in protest, Michael nodded.

"He is. What form he exists in is whatever mortals choose to give him. He is a creator, a maker, a father, mother, the force of the Universe and the life in a seed. He can be as big or small as he has to be, and is worshipped in many names and under many faces. But in the end, he is simply God, and he is real."

Samantha tilted back until she was lying down on the couch, her eyes closed and a hand to her head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you asked. But in seriousness, Samantha, we need your help."

"You need my help?" She sat back up, her eyes wide. This time they didn't stray to the wings that Michael now had at his side once more. They were focused solely on his face and the shape of his mouth as he spoke.

"Hundreds, thousands of years ago, my brother Lucifer rebelled against Heaven and my father."

"The devil?"

"That is one of his names. My father stripped the angels, his children, of free will, and made us into an army to protect heaven from those who would harm it." Michael clenched his fists, steeling himself against memories he'd rather not revisit. "We cast Lucifer out of Heaven permanently, but now, after so many years, his supporters are rallying again. After the first war, dad took some time off, we haven't heard from him until recently, when he informed me of the new threat." He gave a moment to make sure Samantha was still following. "Because angels can see other angels, we've had difficulty sending out spies to gather information such as the size of the opposition. This is where you come in. Our enemies will not be searching for a mortal, so you will be able to get a count of how many angels have allied with Lucifer."

Samantha held a pillow to her chest, her arms pulling it tightly towards her as if it was the only thing grounding her.

"So... You need my help in a second angel war?" She asked, at last, seeking approval. Michael nodded. 

"The angel Eloriel will help you, transporting you from place to place. Of course, we need you up to the task."

"I have to choose?"

"I'm afraid there isn't much of a choice. I could force you, but I'd rather not. The consequences alone for being taken surprise by Lucifer's supporters should be enough, however, to get you on board."

"Consequences?" Genuine fear entered Samantha, her breath quickening and her muscles tensing.

"Worst case scenario, he takes over Heaven and destroys all of creation to start fresh."

Samantha nodded, "right, I see, I... I'll help you." She stood up and her legs nearly collapsed below her. Michael shook his head.

"Stay, rest. I'll ask Eloriel to check on you later. For now, sleep."

"I don't know if I can." She closed her eyes and sighed. Michael reached a hand towards her hand and grasped it, sending a single pulse of energy through her that caused her body to relax and her mind to quiet. Standing up, he looked down to the sleeping mortal.

"Sleep," he said again, knowing she couldn't hear. Then, hearing sounds of arguing, he made his way downstairs.

 

"You're just leaving us here?" Raphael was furious, his wings puffed and ruffled at the ends. He grabbed Uriel's hand as if to hold on to him. "You can't just leave! Why not train the angels on earth, or maybe-"

"Let go, Raphael," Michael said, making his voice firm. Raphael glared at his older brother but released Uriel from his grip. "Uriel will be going to Heaven to train angels, it's an important thing and someone has to do it."

"But why him?" Raphael whined, looking from Michael to Uriel and back again.

"Because he's one of the greatest soldiers that we have. I have to stay here on earth, Gabriel's a messenger, and you're a healer. I'm not saying you can't fight, I know you can, but we need Uriel to give his expertise to the younger angels."

"Younger? How younger, exactly?"

"Anywhere from half a century to a few thousand years old should do it, those that weren't around for the first war, really."

"Half a- Michael, have we been on earth so long you're confusing the passage of time? You want to train  _fledglings_ for war?"

"Half a century is quite a bit by today's standards, Raphael, they will manage. We certainly did."

"But this time around we can give them a choice!" Raphael argued, and Michael froze. In the first war, there was no say in it. Angels fought angels, the rebels against the forces of heaven, but what heaven was to be found in being forced to fight? Michael would never betray his father's love, but he still held deep resentment for having to kill the angelic manifestation of his brother. he knew Raphael was right, that they could offer a choice. But the apple didn't fall from the tree, Michael realized, as he made his decision in the matter.

"War is war, we need all we can get. They will be trained." He wordlessly walked to the living room next to the kitchen, where Eloriel had heard it all but not said a word.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, and Michael nodded without really thinking or giving himself time to realize that no, everything was far from alright. 

"Yeah. Eloriel, you are cherubim, yes?"

Eloriel glowed and her true form flickered, an extra set of wings and 3 more heads, of an eagle, a lion, and an ox. They were currently subdued, kept in control, but if war broke out the cherubim could enter their true form and fight with the force of all those creatures combined. If they had formal training, that is, which Eloriel did not.

"I am," she spoke, and the sound came from all four heads in a cacophony of noise. She let it fade and repeated herself once more, her own voice the only one sounding now. "Yeah, I am."

"With Uriel gone, we need someone to shore up the power on earth somewhat. And while I cannot create archangels, I can give promotions if I must. How does Power sound?"

Eloriel's jaw dropped. For one thing, angels were rarely given a step up in rank- the mindset was that you would always be what you were created as. The second was that to raise 3 Choirs in rank at once was something so shocking she had no better reaction.

"I'm s-sorry, what?"

"I can promote you to the choir of Power," Michael repeated, his tone expectant of a response. Eloriel flustered for a minute before composing her thoughts.

"Of course, yes, I mean-"

"Assume your angelic form." Michael stood up, wait for her to do the same. Eloriel scrunched her brows in concentration and suddenly with a swirl of silver light, she existed as a Cherubim, the angelic creature with 4 heads and 4 wings. Michael held his hands outwards, palms to her, and spoke.

 **"Gohus ils trian Lonsa."** (I say you shall be Power)

A light sprang forth from his hands and Eloriel's angelic form began shifting, changing, first melting, then flickering like static, then imploding within on itself. Her mouth was open in a scream as it changed and finally completed a transformation into a humanoid shape with a large, blinking eye where the neck met her collarbones. Her wings remained silver but grew larger and sturdier, causing her legs to give out and Eloriel to fall to the floor. When this was over, Michael was standing transfixed as he watched Eloriel stand shakily, leaning on the couch for support.

"It worked!" He sounded delighted, examining her. Her form had given way to her human appearance, but he could doubtless see it anyway. "You'll get used to the wings, don't worry. How do you feel?"

"Like my insides just went through a blender." Eloriel narrowed her eyes, but a small smile graced her face. "Thank you, Michael."

Michael ignored the pronunciation, as he was quickly learning to do, and smiled, "not a problem at all." Then, he looked to Raphael. "Samantha is sleeping, I'm letting her subconscious help her think things over. If anyone needs me now, I'll be in my study until dinner."

He made his way upstairs and Uriel frowned. "My last day on earth and he just ditches us before I have to go. That's a bit rude."

"It's not permanent, you just have to train them and return." Gabriel shrugged, but Uriel scowled.

"That could take years. Dad couldn't have just made them all set and ready to fight?"

"Would you want him to?" Raphael raised an eyebrow and Uriel sighed before shaking his head. He turned to Gabriel with a solemn look, an expression that was quickly becoming his normal one, and put a hand to his shoulder.

"A piece of advice for you," he told his brother, "don't burn the house down while I'm gone, don't try to understand half the things Michael talks about, and if he starts making metaphors using a chess set again, get him to stop before he gets started."

Gabriel nodded, trying for a smile despite the realization that Uriel really was leaving. "You do something for me, then," he says, "make those guys into proper fighters. When you come back here, you come back as a successful teacher going into retirement, or the leader of war I remember you as with an army at your back."

"I will," Uriel said, a promise buried beneath the words. "And besides, save the farewells for after dinner."

"I'm going to make the most amazing food you've ever had!" Gabriel crowed, racing to around the counter and reaching into cupboards.

"And I'll just..." Raphael's voice trailed off, but he walked with meaning towards Eloriel, sitting beside her. "Apologize for getting you into this mess."

Eloriel shrugged, her shoulders fighting the weight of her wings. "Inevitable, really, I mean, war is coming. Better get into it now than too late." She smiled, "and with close ties to the most powerful angels of creation, that certainly doesn't hurt." Her eyebrows knitted and she spoke again before Raphael could say anything. "It's strange how I've always imagined you guys as super commanding angels with no tolerance for just about anything, but really... You're normal- and I mean that in the best of ways."

Raphael smiled, a genuine one that Eloriel's words had prodded from his tight lips. "I wish it was always like that, trust me. It's gotten better now that we're on earth. Heaven has always been too... Overbearing, too formal and neat. Michael did well enough, but looking back I think he just hides whatever difficulty he feels. I wish he didn't, it's not healthy."

"And you would know, being the healer?"

"I would. I also know that everyone in the family suffers some form of mental repercussion from the war. Gabriel has flashbacks more intense than the rest of us, Michael's pretty much glued to the goal of pleasing our father to the point that it affects his wellbeing, not to mention being paranoid of his free will being taken at any moment, Uriel's seen so much bloodshed I don't think he bats an eye anywhere except for his night terrors, and I..." Raphael paused but continued after a few moments of thought. He probably shouldn't have said so much about his siblings, so now it was only fair he discuss himself, "I live with the mindset of never being good enough as my brothers, terrified that one day I'm not needed as an archangel anymore. I saw what happened to Lucifer and don't want it happening to me." He bit back his tongue, regretting his words. His problems were his to share, but his brothers... he couldn't help but feel guilty sharing what they were going through.

"But you love your father." Eloriel snapped him from his thoughts, and the churning feeling in his gut that he rarely felt.

"So did Lucifer. Father lost his temper when Lucifer stopped being an obedient child. Lucifer reacted in turn by starting a rebellion among angels. The rest is history. What if I do the same? What if I give in to my thoughts, the things I think about him- Eloriel, I'm just... I'm not a perfect child."

"You don't have to be perfect, Raphael." Eloriel's tone was insistent, firm, and she wanted him to believe what she was saying as much as she did. "I'm sure he understands."

"I was  _created_ by him, Eloriel! So were you, so were we all. If I'm not perfect, what does that mean? That he isn't either? That sort of thinking is my problem. I can't... Can't let myself think that way."

"I think that if you keep thinking about your thinking you're going to go crazy." Eloriel folded her arms as if daring the archangel to disagree with her. "Listen, you're not just a healer, you are the health and healing of God. You are powerful and so, _so_ deserving of being an archangel, not out of chance, or because you were among the first created, but because you have the understanding and compassion needed to do what you do. Because you're a nice person, Raphael. Nothing else matters as much as kindness, right?"

Raphael was silent for a second that stretched on like a year before he laughed, the noise at first dismissive but soon turning far more real.

"How do you do that? How do you just prove me wrong and reassure me with a grin on your face?" He gazed at her, "You are certainly something, Eloriel. If the battle ever comes, find me. I think your words could heal more than my hands alone."

 

Gabriel was very insistent that Uriel not set the table, glaring at him until he resigned to stay seated. The meal was served, Michael finally came down from his office, and Uriel at last stood. Those at the table turned their attention from picking at the food to Uriel.

"It would be right to make a farewell speech, I understand. But honestly... I don't think that's the mindset we need. This isn't a farewell or a goodbye, it's a 'see you later'. So here's my see-you-later speech: Tonight I return to heaven, which no matter what we may call this house, is our home, and I go back to those who we do not know but call our siblings regardless. We face fighting an old enemy with new soldiers, which is no easy task, but I am more than welcome to take on the job of training our brethren and reassembling the army that we once knew. Tonight with us is Eloriel-" He raised his glass, and the other angels followed suit. "-And her bravery has inspired me. Eloriel has never fought in a war, never seen what we have. That will doubtless change. Since the war, hundreds of angels have had no formal training, no experience in combat. We are not prepared for an attack, which is ultimately why I must go. Eloriel may stay here on earth, aiding the battle in different ways- but if her courage can be found at the core of every angel, then heaven will win against all odds, of that I am sure." Eloriel was blushing red as his wings now, but he continued, "so I give you my thanks for the support, the love, the brotherhood that I will miss dearly while I am away. I know it will not fade, strong as ever when I return months or years from now. So, Gabriel, when you blow that horn in a battle cry, heaven will be ready." 

He sat back down to the applause of his siblings, and then Gabriel, desperate for distraction, began introducing everyone to his homemade cornbread. And just for a few minutes, everyone was able to forget. 

* * *

 

"Ready?" Michael looked to Uriel, who nodded. It was only a small lie. The four other angels stood behind him, watching with keen eyes. They stood in a small clearing in the empty space where an art studio once stood, now destroyed and the property abandoned. Michael turned to face away from them and shouted, in a powerful voice as he faced the east, 

" **TORZU RAASY AH CLONDOH** **!** " (Rise into the kingdom)

The wind stilled, the insects silenced, and a small white stream of light rose from the air in front of Michael, spiraling higher and higher in a helix pattern until the top of it couldn't be seen. A soft white glow washed the asphalt below, and the watching angels all took a step back, their wings lifting with a hum of longing to return to the skies of heaven. Michael gestured for Uriel to enter.

"Good luck with them all," he said, and Uriel stepped forward, his wings spread.

"Until we meet again," he says, at a loss for other words. He steps into the light and the entire spiral began compressing until only a single white orb was left floating. And then, plunging the ground back into shadows, it winked out of existence.

And Uriel was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things to note here:  
> First, the Choirs are the nine ranks of angels in heaven. Here is a wonderful explanation: https://threewingedkingdoms.tumblr.com/post/153741224819 (I have no idea if that link will work. If it doesn't then just copy+paste). The order I would put them in for this story is as such:  
> Angels (at the top but used as an umbrella term, not a formal rank)  
> Archangels  
> Principalities  
> Powers  
> Virtues  
> Dominions  
> Cherubim  
> Throne  
> Seraphim
> 
> I have also based Eloriel's new angelic appearance off of the art in the link above.
> 
> Secondly, the words Michael speaks are Enochian, which is considered to be the language of angels. I have taken the words from the online Enochian Dictionary (http://www.gclvx.org/The%20Whole%20Enochian%20Dictionary.pdf), and have changed only the last phrase so it reads AH CLONDOH instead of A-C-LONDOH which is very difficult to sound out in the head.
> 
> Lastly, a reminder that I try to base the archangels and events described as much as I can off the 'canon', but deviate slightly for story purposes. For example, the part about god taking free will from the angels to make an army just comes from my thoughts about the war, mostly that I doubt the angels, creatures of light no matter how dark they seem, would want to kill their brother. I find it more likely that it was forced, an act of their father not done from cruelty or spite but of necessity.  
> That's all, thanks for reading this story as it progresses!


	10. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing past memories, coming to terms with the importance of them, and realizing the meaning of them. Also, a bit at the end showing how Michael can afford an entire apartment, house, etc.

The next morning was quiet.

When Michael woke up, his dreams had been filled with white light and devoid of noise, like watching an old soundless movie flickering by, colorless. He rolled over in his bed, content to keep sleeping. One of his brothers could be the first up, for a change.

Raphael awoke next, forcing himself out of bed and glaring hatred at the sun in his curtains. He pushed them open and began making his way sleepily towards the bathroom. Samantha would no doubt be awake soon. He had to help her adjust since the angel's had no other plans for the day.

Gabriel was awake and managed to freshen up immediately, shaking off his residing nervousness. He knew he would have to be working closer to Michael, but he had realized, as he stared up to the ceiling with a roaming mind, that he didn't know how close. Uriel had never really disclosed the private conversations they had. He made his way downstairs regardless, hoping to get a bowl of cereal before the day really began.

And in a bedroom several rooms away, Eloriel awoke as well, her head filled with the noises of heaven. Seeing that light, the gate to heaven, she had been hit with messages from her old friends, mostly cherubim, and her new acquaintances of the Power choir. They hadn't sounded too pleased. She allowed several minutes to pass as the ringing left her head, then stood and slowly ventured down the stairs, her hand gripping the rail tightly as if she'd fall. She wasn't entirely used to the larger wings she now had, because even if it was a noticeably small increase in size, it was enough to mess up her sense of balance.

"Hello?" She turned the corner at the floor and went down the hall to the kitchen. Gabriel was seated and hunched over a bowl of cereal, his laptop- the computer in his area of the study was not his only one- opened to what seemed to be a website about angels.

"Hey Eloriel," he greeted, not turning around.

"You know it's me?" Eloriel was taken back, confusion veiling her face.

"I see your reflection in the screen," Gabriel said, pivoting in his seat, "you're not directly behind my wings. I can see you." He smiled towards her and stood, bringing the empty bowl of cereal to the sink. "I can also feel your energy, how it's changed. It will eventually even itself out, of course. How are the wings?"

"Annoying," Eloriel answered, "I had a hard time sleeping last night." She waved a hand to dismiss the thought. "What are you up to?"

"I realized that I know nothing about what the mortals think of us," Gabriel said simply, "Did you know there are books and shows about us?"

"Fascinating?" Eloriel posed the comment as a question.

"Well, I think so. Apparently, I don't make it into my Bible by name, can you believe that? I mean, who do you think said-" Gabriel squints at the screen, "-Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb... These are the true sayings of God*... Man, did I actually phrase it that way?" He shook his head, "regardless, they don't even bother with my name. 'True sayings'... I'm a messenger, who did they think it was?"

*(Revelation 19:9)

"I think if I were the guy talking to you I'd be in too much shock to question who you were," Eloriel says, raising a brow. She knew she made a compelling point. Gabriel nodded, conceding to it. 

"Then he tries to worship me and I was like, dude, I don't have time for this." He referenced the screen again, "okay, right, that isn't what I said. Look, I had been a great mood, alright? We got that nasty Babylon business taken care of-"

"Babylon?" A voice came from the hallway and the only mortal around entered the kitchen.

"A story for another time," Gabriel was quick to declare, closing the computer. "Good morning, Samantha, sleep well?"

"Yes," she said idly, totally distracted by Eloriel, "how come your wings are different?"

"I've been promoted," Eloriel said, which was a rather unhelpful answer for Samantha. She made a face like she was holding back a flood of questions and then finally, wordlessly, went to the kitchen and poked around for food. 

"Raphael is awake," she said, grabbing the cereal that Gabriel had.

"Wonderful!" Gabriel looked to Eloriel, "he can be a bit rude in the mornings."

"I heard that," Raphael grumbled, reaching for the coffee pot and staring at the buttons. Giving up promptly on using it, he opened a jug of coffee beans and crammed a handful into his mouth. Samantha watched with a mildly disgusted expression, before taking the coffee pot and starting a brew. Raphael gave a nod to her as he swallowed, "Thanks."

Gabriel closed down his laptop and stood, pushing his chair in. He passed behind Samantha and stood nearby, watching the coffee pot gurgle and bubble. Samantha looked at him and gave a nervous smile.

"I can show you how to use it if you want?" She hesitated, and relaxed when Gabriel smiled, replying that he would love that. She then motioned to his shoulders, "Could I get through?"

Gabriel realized that his wings were in the way of the gap between the counter and the island. He turned to the side and drew them in so Samantha could pass. "Right, I've got to get used to that." He walked outside the house and returned moments later with a handful of magazines and junk mail.

"Advertisements, coupons, celebrity magazines- those are mine- fashion catalogs... Oh, a fitness program newsletter advertising a free trial..."

"Don't even think about it," came the voice of the final angel of the house. Michael stretched his arms up, shaking his wings as if to un-cramp them after sleeping (which usually took a few minutes), and took the paper from Gabriel, reading through it. 

"But Michael, it would be hilarious! Cause if one of those 'tough guys' is using the weights and I start lifting like 500 pounds, he would totally-"

"People would ask questions." Michael returned the paper to Gabriel, then paused. "But you're going to go anyways aren't you?"

Gabriel nodded, and Michael put his head in his hand.

"I'll join you then. Don't do anything too stupid. Raphael, will you join us?" He turned his gaze, "or you two?"

Eloriel and Samantha were quick to shake their heads, and Raphael hesitated. "I think I'll stay home, thanks." He went to the living room and Samantha, looking like a lost and overwhelmed child, followed him. 

"Suit yourself." Gabriel shrugged, "Let me go put something more comfortable one and I'll be ready to go." He went back upstairs, the speed of his steps sending the noise of old wood throughout the house. Their home wasn't brand-new, despite being equipped with modern necessities, and oftentimes a strong wind would cause the walls to creak and groan.

Michael followed him, and the two of them were in the living room again rather fast. Gabriel had loose short and a tee-shirt and Michael wore a similar outfit, but instead of the blue colors Gabriel chose, he wore black. "We'll see you again soon," Michael said, and Raphael waved to his brothers as they left.

"Have fun!" He called behind them, and then as the door shut behind them his smile fell a slight bit. "And then there was one." He turned in his seat, "Or, three, I suppose."

Eloriel smiled, but Samantha just sat there, saying nothing. Raphael knew she had a lot on her mind right now, it was best to let her process it.

"Any ideas on how to pass the time?" He asked Eloriel. She considered it, her head tilted upwards and her gaze cast a bit to the right. Her brows wrinkled in thought and her nose twitched a few times before she answered him, looking back once more.

"Uh, I can't think of much. Maybe a game or something, but I don't know many games... Do you?"

"The games we played in Heaven are different then what we can play here on earth," Raphael laughed, "we would find statues, copy their poses, and create dances from those poses. Michael was endlessly annoyed." He paused to laugh, continuing as it trailed off, "and... And he would usually join us after three rounds or so. What else did we... Er, we played tag a lot, races... I remember the dome on top of the library, we would do laps around it and Uriel would try and cheat by pressing up close to it so he had less distance to go."

"Not really feasible here, though," Eloriel said again. 

"Well, to be fair, there isn't a wide range of activities. We would go listen to the other angels sing-"

Eloriel groaned, "you are  _so_ lucky you got out of that. I remember it was once my turn and not only was it  _super loud_ , I was expected to  _harmonize_? I have a terrible singing voice." She drew her head back with a sudden realization, "hey, maybe that's why I was sent to earth!" She smiled, evidently proud of her ability to get out of singing by being bad at it.

"I have an idea," Samantha said, looking at the angels, "Um... Do any of you know card games? I could maybe teach you."

"Like, gambling?" Raphael looked confused. "I mean we did that a bit in Heaven as well, but not for money, just bragging rights. And we would gamble things like secrets and information for whoever ended up the most tokens."

"Oh, is that why there was such a loud noise in the 41st cathedral?" Eloriel asked, and Raphael groaned.

"Yeah, that's when Dariel had to tell everyone that they had been slowly raising the pitch of the songs higher and higher and because everyone was trying to harmonize as you said, it turned into a screeching mess. I remember Michael had been playing with us at that time, and he lost it, let me tell you. I guess he had been trying to catch the culprit for years and uh, I'm not sure how Dariel was doing after that but I don't think they ever tried to raise the song again." He turned from Eloriel to Samantha, clearing the memories from his head. "But uh... Cards, right."

"It's not quite like gambling," Samantha said, "but now that you mention it, we could do that, I mean, I can teach you poker. I just need a deck of cards..."

"I can go get some," Eloriel said, standing up, "it won't take long." She left the house without another word and returned three minutes later with the cards. "So I nearly crash-landed in the parking lot, but on the other hand, these wings go  _way_ faster than my old ones."

Samantha took the cards and shuffled, before going to the kitchen and returning with the same cereal that had been used heavily just an hour earlier. She took the small rectangle bites of wheat and distributed them to use as tokens. Finally, she got around to teaching the game.

 

Michael and Gabriel arrived at the gym within minutes, entering through large double doors of glass and showing the advertisement to the manager, who allowed them in and demonstrated the use of the equipment. Michael had to pull Gabriel aside, whispering in his ear, "no outrageous tricks or anything, alright?"

"Sue, whatever you say," Gabriel replied dismissively.

"I mean it!"

"I'm sure." He went to the treadmills with a grin on his face and started running at a fairly normal mortal pace. Michael watched from the corner of his eye as he worked with some weights, but he was too busy observing the humans in the room. Some held tires over their heads while doing lunges around a circle, and several girls were using jump ropes int he corner of the room, counting their jumps until they were in the thousands. He could smell the sweat, the chalk powder, the rubber of tires and mats below bare feet. Restless energy building within him, he increased the pace to 7 miles an hour, which was a decent sprint. What would have been normal, he supposed, was to run this speed in a short burst and then stop, but he continued going and as the minutes ticked by he noticed that no one really saw him.

And although he had come to be noticed, maybe to feel some small amount of undeserved validation... He enjoyed it. For a while, the only noise to him was the beating of his heart, the whirring of the treadmill, and the sound of his footsteps below him. He had a view out the window into the parking lot, where he saw cars came and go. People entered the building, small groups would leave, evidently going to a bar to eat back the calories they had just burned. Gabriel let it build in his mind, the running, the motion, and he allowed his wings to open and trail behind him, stretching them high as he could before pulling them back in. He was faintly aware of coughing, and a hand reached over and slowed the machine. Gabriel looked and saw Michael shooting him an amused look.

"Having fun, Gabe?" He raised a brow and Gabriel lifted his lips in a half-smile.

"Evidently. This is rather relaxing, somehow."

"Yes, well, you've been getting strange looks from the coaches. It's been half an hour and you've been sprinting."

Gabriel bit back a small noise of recognition. "Right, that would do it. So I'll just go to weights now?"

"No, we go home now."

"Come on, please?" He widened his eyes at Michael and stuck out his bottom lip in what he evidently thought was a proper pout.

"You look ridiculous doing that, Gabriel," Michael chided. "Besides, I was thinking we go spread our-"

Gabriel nodded before he finished. "Don't need to say it twice." He waved to the coaches, who still watched him in awe, then hurried for the doors with his brother. The moment the doors closed behind them his wings were spread. "Ten laps around the building, I'll race you!" 

Michael narrowed his eyes but jumped up, his body rocketing up an in-human 20 feet before his wings snapped open and held him still in the air. Gabriel hovered beside him.

"On your mark," He started, but Michael was already flying with a hoot of glee that trailed behind him. With quick reflexes, this not being the first time Michael did this in a race, Gabriel followed, his feathers spreading and his muscles working furiously to spur him ahead. The deep blue fluttered around a corner as Michael turned and Gabriel tensed his arms and legs straight as an arrow, curving his spine and flexing his wings as he followed. Michael drew closer as Gabriel gained speed, but maintained his pace through the tenth lap with Gabriel streaking by as he finished, unable to stop instantly. His body bent in the air as he held out his wings to slow himself, taking a moment to orientate himself before returning to Michael, who waited at the point they started from with a smug expression.

"I think you're out of practice," Michael said, and Gabriel shook his head, letting himself glide downwards in a slow descent.

"Nope, bad headwind."

"Excuses." 

* * *

 

"How did you have that in your hand the entire time?" Eloriel's face was red and Raphael's was one of shock as Samantha lay down her cards cooly.

"Lucky deal, I suppose." She scooped the pile of cereal into her arms. "Now then, pay up. You bet a story about yourself. Do tell."

Eloriel groaned, "when I was, like, 60 years old, I thought it would be a great idea to get some friends together and make a slide of ice down the stairs in the library."

Raphael recalled them now, the delicate spiraling stairs of silver and glass that rose over the walls and shelves of the library, more for the aesthetic than the use since most of Heaven's inhabitants were capable of flight. He couldn't remember when there was ice, though.

"So we cover the entire thing in ice-"

"The entire thing?" Raphael looked at Samantha, "I think you've got to realize, the shelves stretched as high as... Maybe the Empire State Building? We aren't talking about just a single room." Samantha's mouth opened in a gasp, her mind struggling to fit that into perspective.

"Yes, the entire thing. Anyways, one of the higher-ups happened to see us sliding down on stomachs, wings outstretched, trying to launch into the air like hang-gliding penguins, and probably would have had a heart attack if that were to be possible for angels to have. He made us clean it up and we were stuck with a year of shelving the library. Which by the way, Raphael, was wonderful when you would check out two hundred books about ancient medical philosophy at a time."

"Oh," Raphael said, then closed his mouth. He had been studying at the time, then, likely trying to brush up on his knowledge. He once had a goal to read every book in Heaven's library but realized how hard that would be when the shelves kept popping in and out of space depending on what you needed, effectively containing every piece of writing ever written. "That makes for a good story. I guess it's my turn then?" Two heads nodded eagerly.

"Alright, um..." Raphael racked his brains for something interesting that had happened within the last few thousand years and landed on a memory from the times before the first war. "There was one time when I accidentally found myself on the battlefield of some ancient tribes of people and nearly got a cult started of me." He received blank stares in return and hastened to explain. "See, I was flying and saw what looked to be a skirmish. I was rather curious about humans cause, well," he turned to Samantha, "you guys had only been around for a few thousand years. So I go to land in the middle of them, see what's going on, and I guess they weren't used to angels- which really, how was I supposed to know?- and they then stopped fighting before deciding I was some sort of divine being from above." Raphael stopped short, "I mean that isn't wrong, but I couldn't really let them get out of hand because Dad would be pissed. So I had to wipe their memories of me."

Samantha sat up straighter, "You can  _wipe memories_ _?_ _"_ She questioned, her eyes betraying a flicker of fear. She was probably wondering if the same would happen to her after all was said and done.

"Not anymore. Angels had free will until Lucifer used it to rebel and got the privilege taken from all of us. What we have now is similar but we are far more restrained in matters like, for example, the human mind. Obvious he doesn't want me tampering with memories, or else the moment I caught you in my arms at the park you would have forgotten everything to do with wings."

"You tried to erase  _my_ memories?" Samantha sounded horrified and Raphael unknowingly cringed.

"I mean, yes? You had just seen our wings and I thought it would be safer to-" Samantha had left the room, storming upstairs to no doubt lock the doors of the room she had been given in the house. Eloriel looked at Raphael, who groaned. "She doesn't get it, does she?"

"To be fair, Raphael, you can be scary. I mean I know you think less of yourself because you're the youngest, but you're still an  _archangel_ and she's an easily intimidated mortal. Heaven above, you scare me sometimes. Be gentle with her, yeah?"

Raphael listened carefully to her talk and nodded, "You're right, I'm sorry. Should I go apologize?"

Eloriel had to ignore the shock gripping her at Raphael asking  _her_ for advice and instead gave him an answer. If he was asking her what to do, something was going on with him. "No, I would give her some space." She began picking up the cards, putting them away and sweeping the squares of cereal into a pile. "Should clean this mess up before your brothers get home, though," she muttered, transferring them to the trash. Raphael moved to help her, picking up what fell from her arms. He was silent in the task, his mind running back through the conversation, around every bend and twist, the inflections of the words and the tone of the voice. He knew that the human mind was rather complex, able to be looked at from many angles, but he also knew that it was simple in the fact that certain words provoked certain reactions based on a multitude of factors like esteem, passion, aims, and past experiences. So what had he done aside from implying that he tried to erase a portion of her memories? It was such a small portion, the memory of just  _moments_ -

Raphael realized just what those moments meant. Sure there was the fact that maybe this could be seen as a breach of privacy, but there was also the fact that to mortals, memories mattered.

He recalled learning (though how he couldn't remember) that if a person lives to be 100 years, the memory of a single year is a hundredth of their lives and have, on average, the same importance. Given a lifespan of 80 years or so, memorable events were of even larger importance because life was shorter. If someone lived ten days, assuming of course that they started at full mental and physical maturity for the sake of the scenario, every day would have a tenth of the importance in their lives. 

The problem with living forever is that it quickly becomes boring. Even if you see something tremendous, like world peace being achieved, it isn't the only time that will happen in your life. At some point in eternity, peace breaks and the idea of world peace is lost- until it happens again. Thus, every event of the lifetime is of no importance because it will be experienced infinite time.

The thought hurt Raphael's head- he was glad he hadn't become  _that_ bored yet- and saddened him, but he understood why it was important to Samantha now. And for a human who only the day before had made her first contact with honest-to-god divinity... It was a miracle that she was taking this so well, even with her new knowledge of what Raphael was once able to do.

Eloriel had been glancing at him, seeing him frozen still, and had since moved around him entirely, turning on the television. She heard him moving again and questioned him without hesitation. "Do you normally do that?"

She watched the confusion flicker over his face, then drop like heavy curtains as understanding became apparent. 

"Sometimes, when I'm thinking."

"And what were you just thinking?" She pressed further, hoping to get a glimpse of his mind's inner workings.

"That living forever is going to get really tiring in another few million years or so. Like what, the entire planet dies and we just... go home? Find another spinning ball of rock to poke with sticks and wings? How many times will that happen in our lives?"

"You're doing it again."

"Freezing?"

"Overthinking." She turned her head towards the door, "I hear something."

"Looks like they're home." Raphael moved slowly, the thoughts in his brain swirling and protesting as he pushed them aside to think over later (likely at night when he would be trying to get some not-necessary-but-appreciated sleep). He grinned, the door opening and his brothers entering with no constraint on noise.

"Woah, are you alright?" He let his words cut into the chatter they exchanged and Gabriel, red in the face, spoke before Michael could.

"Yeah, we raced around the building and he won but I won on our race getting here and he refuses to admit it."

"It was a tie," Michael insisted, "and I am  _not_ a sore loser!"

"Would you hush?" Raphael fixed them both with a look. "Samantha's upstairs, resting, I think-" He made a choice not to tell them what happened- "after we had a wonderful game of poker. Maybe Eloriel and I can teach you how to play now that we know how? It's a bit like the gambling game we played back when."

"That would be fun," Michael said, "I'll bet that I tied the race and we can let the cards decide."

"The outcome of the card game doesn't change what the outcome of the race was, Michael, that's not how it works!" Gabriel huffed and squeezed past Michael in the hallway, sitting on the couch next to Eloriel to watch whatever show was on with her. She was paying a small bit of attention to it but was typing on her phone as well.

"Searching up the actors?" Gabriel's smile flickered into a smirk as he recalled what happened outside of the theater. Eloriel gave a small laugh but didn't answer right away as she typed with a small frown. Gabriel got the feeling something was wrong. He tried again, "Eloriel?"

"My old roommate. She finds all her bills being paid, myself moved out without telling her, and she panics, which is understandable."

"What does she think happened?"

"Her theories have ranged from... Well, the first is that I've been kidnapped by oddly considerate people with some sort of blood feud against my family who I've never spoken about and is therefore mysterious and involved in a crime ring. The second was that I'm secretly a movie star, bonded with her cause I liked shows she watched that I somehow played a part in, and moved out while paying everything for her as a gesture of kindness."

"That's not too far from the truth," Gabriel remarked, and Eloriel held up a hand to stop him. 

"The latest one is that I'm some top secret member of the government sworn to secrecy and this is payment for some sort of information she's supplying for the government, per terms negotiated by a contract she has unknowingly signed."

"I change my mind, that's possibly the most ridiculous thing I've heard." Gabriel leaned closer to her and looked at the screen. "Just tell her you got a sugar daddy."

Eloriel looked at him, "a what?"

"A man who exchanges money and presents to a female companion in exchange for services, mostly sexual but other times-"

"I am  _not_ about to tell her that!" Eloriel screeched. She was very still for a few moments, and her fingers hovered over the digital keyboard. "What do I tell her?"

"Family member died, left you a small fortune, so you've moved out and are helping her?" Michael leaned over the back of the couch and Eloriel tensed as the sound of his voice startled her. 

"Yeah, sure, that works." She typed a message, and when a response came back almost instantly, she began typing again. The brothers waited patiently until she turned her phone off and set it aside. "I now have an 'Uncle Connor' who died last week, and a crazy aunt who cut ties with him and pushed him from the family due to a drinking problem she couldn't support him with, leaving him to become clean, become wealthy, and leave me in his will as the only family member to ever accept him as a good person."

Gabriel clapped, impressed, "wonderful story! Did you tell her you're staying with others? She's going to want to visit you."

Eloriel frowned, "you're right. I don't think I can just invite her over here-"

"Why not?" Michael asked, "we already have one mortal here, and I think we can trust your friend. My only concern is that..." He looked to Raphael, "Samantha isn't doing too well, is she? It seems like humans don't do so well around us."

"She seems alright with the plan for her to help us, but, I mean, you can't blame her for being emotional. Michael, she's a mortal in a house that's been filled with angelic energy for centuries."

"I'm sorry- Centuries?" Eloriel's jaw dropped briefly, "how long have you been on Earth?"

"A while. I left a structure in place to keep Heaven running and aside from the occasional check-in, this house has been home for years. We've had some repairs done to it, mostly structural, and of course, when electricity was invented we hopped on that soon as possible. Eloriel, who do you think organized the placement of angels on Earth to monitor mankind and detect any cause for concerns?"

"Oh... You did, of course, I should have guessed that." Eloriel looked around as if seeing the house for the first time. "I thought this place was brand new."

"It does look good, doesn't it?" Raphael grinned, "with the exception of those two side rooms filled with junk."

"It's not  _junk_ ," Michael defended, "those are important documents and artifacts I've collected through the years! Priceless!"

"Priceless because it's all junk. You should be on that hoarding show." The statement made Michael glare at Gabriel, employing the tactic he so often did of shifting his appearance so his features became at least twice as intimidating. Gabriel didn't seem very phased and resumed watching the TV, which had been droning in the background through the conversation.

"Right, well you guys do... Whatever you do, I'm going to get some actually important things done." He crossed through the hall again and entered the downstairs study. The room was used for managing mortal issues like taxes and bills, as well as tracking the stock market, something Michael was well familiar with since it had come about in America. Nothing came free, and he would have to change his budget now that he was paying for an entire apartment. Perhaps he could get a fake will from 'Uncle Connor' to be created, he mused, although that would require some probably-illegal things he wasn't certain he could do. As an angel, he tried his best to avoid things like lying and stealing, but he was rather adept at bending the truth and squeezing through loopholes.

He had done it before, after all. Even once Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for good, Michael made sure he had a house, enough power to hide the place with a hefty illusion, and a stable income so his life as an almost-mortal wouldn't be bad.

In return, Lucifer had agreed to keep his business to himself and distance himself from his brothers- although the party that had happened all the while back proved that exceptions were made. Michael closed the doors to his office, twisting the key in the lock behind him and seating himself in the wheeled office-chair, pulling loose papers toward him. While his pen was on the paper, his mind was elsewhere.

He really had to have a chat with his brother...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I plan to post a (terribly drawn) sketch of the house layout once I figure out how and finish the drawing.  
> -Feel free to ignore my descriptions of Heaven because that's all my imagination. I've tried to leave specific details unmentioned so you as the reader can picture it the way you want- I did describe the library more heavily, however, because I love the image of it I have in my head.  
> -I have no idea how to play poker, so fewer details on that as well.  
> -Regarding the mentioned bible verse, I'm pretty sure there isn't proof that it was Gabriel, I just sorta decided it was for the story so he could get all pissed at it. The idea of angels reading the bible and being like 'I'm sorry, when did THAT happen?' is rather amusing to me.  
> -Also, I have never read the bible front and back so yes, some things may be wrong. Try to remember that I view it more as a story, and I will use it for the plot. I do, however, strive to research what I must to base my story on the 'canon', so there's that.  
> -Don't think too hard about the 'everything is meaningless in immortality' thing, it can and will hurt your head.  
> -Thank you for continuing to stick with this story as I update! I do my best to write a bit daily so I can have a chapter of decent length to post as soon as possible- So again, a huge thanks for the patience!


	11. Letters and Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels receive word from Uriel, new experiences are had, and conversations of both a serious and relaxed nature happen over breakfast. An angel and a mortal discuss the years and what those numbers mean, and some more Heavenly history is explained.

"One!"

The noise of a fist colliding with the palm of an open hand sounded through the expanse. A large crowd swarmed and moved around as one, light reflecting off metal armor that shone over every limb and the wild hair that drifted in the winds. A single angel with red wings stood before the mass, adorned in shining gold and a helmet that curved down the sides of his face and down along his cheeks, angling forward to rest beside his lips. He raised a hand and lowered it with a shout of "TWO!"

The group responded with several movements in a series, drawing long spears and poising them forward.

Uriel shook his head, "shoulders front! Front row, fighting stance! Row two, prepare to advance! Everyone else, hold!" He watched the ranks shift positions, waiting and allowing their muscles to become accustomed to the pose. Then he spoke again, "Attention!"

The rows of angels drew back their spears, angling them across their chest as they stood straight. Uriel took a glance to where the Battle Hall sat upon a hill like a beacon that had become dim without use. He had fixed it up a bit, but it was less than ideal and many angels were equipped with improper armor.

"Randiah, Amiel, Serendael, come see me! The rest of you- Dismissed!"

The entire flock took flight at his words, leaving three individuals remaining on the ground to approach Uriel. He removed his helmet and let it fall gently to the grass below him, his wings flapping several times in response to the motion of his students. When those he had called reached him and stood to attention a second time, he motioned for them to be at ease.

"As the leaders of your groups," he began, keeping a calm and level voice, "I expect you to set an example for those below you. What I just saw was far from it. Not only were the three of you out of tune with each other _and_ with me, but you haven't been training for reality. If we don't practice as if it's the real thing, we're good as dead when the 'real thing' is happening. Take a page from Jasiel's book and strive to be better so you can lead better. I know you are capable, that's why I have picked you to help me train the Host. But you have to improve for not just my sake but for everyone's.."

"And we're training why, exactly? Because some stupid rebels are being a nuisance?" Amiel said, scoffing at the thought. Uriel paced several steps forward, leaning to look him in the eyes directly as his wings expanded to the sides in an attempt to intimidate.

"Because the intelligent and organized rebels could storm the gates any day and allow the fallen back here into Heaven. Amiel, have I not warned you to never underestimate an enemy? You should know better. I trust in the information provided to us by our  _father_ , I can only hope that you do."

Amiel stiffened, his wings folding tighter and his fingers flexed closed and open several times as he formulated a response.

"A... Apologies, sir, I was making a statement-"

"A statement of opinion. In an army like this, there is no room for opinions." Uriel faced the other two angels. Randiah tightened his grip on his spear as if bracing himself and Serendael's stance was relaxed, open to whatever criticism Uriel had to offer. Uriel had a high opinion of her. She wasn't bright as Randiah or strong as Amiel, but her skills of reasoning were what caused Uriel to pick her. 

"Go make sure your team is putting their weapons away properly. If you have to make them repeat it, do so. I want storage organized by the end of the day one way or another." Uriel nodded a final time, a dismissal of sorts despite not being a proper one, and he flew upwards, leading the three angels to the Battle Hall. He had spent an entire two months in Heaven, but he knew his brothers only had experienced a few days without him. He hoped they understood how much he missed them. He himself returned to his old room, which he had cleaned as soon as he had returned. It hadn't changed since he left, and those were times he didn't want to mull over right now. He instead reached a hand to his wings, grabbing a single feather from behind the middle one, and pulling hard.

"A-aa-," a noise of pain escaped him. His wings were strong and damage resistant, but yanking a feather out at such a strange angle was nearly agonizing. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the throbbing pain as his hand trembled to move the feather out of the wing. He brought it to his eyes and examined it, wiping the end, and then whispering a soft phrase under his breath, the edges of his voice sharp and hissed through his teeth. It began to glow a soft gold and Uriel, his purpose clearing the pain from his wing, laid a fresh sheet of paper on his desk and began to write. Besides him to the edge of the desk was a second letter, words in a different style of writing and written in human English. The signing off at the end hovered in the corner of his eye. 

_Best of luck to you, brother. With love, Michael._

* * *

 

"So if they look like that-" Samantha pointed to the drawing Eloriel had shown her. It wasn't a drawing as much as it was a poorly-made doodle, but she understood it well enough, "- They're rebels?"

Eloriel nodded, "losing feathers is the price paid for going against Heaven. Now if they have clipped wings entirely, they were angels who fought in the first war. We would do well to stay clear of those. They are easily provoked, according to Michael, and can kill either of us in a matter of minutes."

Samantha looked from the drawing to Eloriel, back again a few more times, her mind turning so many gears it was nearly audible.

"You didn't fight in that war did you?" She asked, and Eloriel froze, taking a few moments to really understand the sudden question before she shook her head.

"No, I did not. I wasn't created until much later, around 2000 BC, I think. The 1900s of the era were wonderful, with the cocoa bean being farmed and all. The Mayans had this thing with chile to season it and it was-"

"Eloriel." Samantha gave her a look and Eloriel nodded.

"Right, around that time. I also went to Mycenae later- Which became Hellas, known more as Greece now- and that was loads of fun. But the first war happened centuries, thousands of years, really, before I was around."

"How..." Samantha looked upstairs as if fearing the other angels would wake up an hour early and hear her, "How old are  _they_ _?_ _"_

"Well, if you read God's "favorite" book, it says Heaven and Earth were created at the same time. It also says that the angels- Including those upstairs, I suppose- were around to sing praises of Earth when it was formed. It seems Heaven was created first which means that really... They're as old as the first day of creation." Eloriel laughed, "good luck with praising something you can't see. The light was brought forth until  _after_ that if the book is to be believed."

"If?"

"Well it was written by humans, wasn't it? No offense. The number of translations it's gone through... I'm not sure if it's the word of god or the word of whoever wants their seven seconds of fame, you know... If you ask me."

"That aside." Samantha started, but then realized she had nothing else to say. "These have been the strangest days of my life, honestly. I mean I'm talking to an angel, an actual real-live angel who's lifespan is so endless mine is literally a blip, and she's ranting about Mayan chocolate. Not to mention we're making plans to find and tally up rebel angels who want to reclaim Heaven- because  _that's_ also a thing."

"You're doing amazing with this all so far. Want to get used to flying?" Eloriel waved her wings up and down and Samantha's eyes flitted toward them with longing. Her hand reached out and Eloriel allowed her to touch the feathers as if Samantha needed to remind herself that they were real.

"You're just going to hold me?"

"I have an incredibly strong grip. You're in safe hands." She gestured to the backyard and Samantha followed her wordlessly as they left the house. Eloriel motioned to Samantha to stand still and circled behind her, closing her arms around her from behind and gripping her under the arms.

"I'm not sure if I feel ready for this," Samantha confessed.

"Well, what we do in heaven when the fledgling angels are learning to fly is very, very similar to what the winged animals of the world do- Drop them from the nest and let them figure it out!" With a whoop of glee, Eloriel took flight.

Samantha wondered if the young angels in heaven also experienced the feeling of their guts being in a washing machine, or had their eyes closed so tightly they saw spots. Maybe the ordeal would be better if she had wings to flap in a desperate attempt to gain height. But when her body relaxed, being held steady, she cracked her lids open and had two immediate reactions. The first one was that  _wow_ she was high up and the ground was way down there and the only thing keeping her alive was Eloriel and that was crazy-

The second was that with the sun rising and casting an orange glow to the clouds, the air cool against her and the patchwork of fields and roads below her, Samantha couldn't be terrified for long. The moment burned itself into her memory, seared into her eye so for as long as she lived, she knew, the details would never escape her. She was too high to hear songbirds, but their tunes burst into her mind regardless as she experienced a feeling far, far better than the ones she sought feeding birds in the park.

"Eloriel," she breathed, her head turning to look beside her. Eloriel was behind her, holding Samantha in front of her and to the right just a bit, so she could see where she was flying. Samantha had to close her mouth before she let out another sound of amazement when she saw two silver wings beating the air on either side of her, reflecting the small rays of sun starting to reach their height. Eloriel tended to hover in the air while bobbing up and down, and Samantha wondered how flight would feel in the arms of one of the Archangels. With six wings, after all, it was bound to be smoother. She had seen them flying, hovering in the air with their bodies fixed in space. It seemed to defy the rules of physics that should have been acting upon them, but so was the very thing she was experiencing in the present.

"Are you alright?" Eloriel sped up her wings to try and steady herself, "need to go down?" She sounded worried, having never flown with a human before. Not that any angels really had. Eloriel was having the same line of thought- She was the first angel to ever fly with a human. Technically, Raphael had carried Samantha back to the house after she saw their wings for the first time, but as far as she knew, she was the first to carry a conscious, mentally functioning human being in flight.

"Yes, " came the response from Samantha, "could you maybe... fly around?"

Eloriel didn't have to be told twice. She set off again, leaning forward and diving down to circle at the same levels of the treetops, around the edges of a field that was nearby the house. She climbed higher into the sky as the sun rose, and the sight, if viewed from afar, was quite something. At the perfect angle, the sun was behind them with its bright orange outlining the silhouette of the angel flying upwards with the human in her arms, as if ascending to reach something glorious and heroic. But the only thing glorious in the scene from the perspective of the individuals involved was the delighted screams from Samantha and the unable-to-stop smile of Eloriel, who made it a point to spin at least twice. The first time caught Samantha off guard. She had been watching the grass and trees go by when wings curled around her and the world went upside down for a moment. But the second time it happened Samantha's breath caught in her throat as she saw what she swore was every detail of the wing- the feathers as they moved and rippled with the muscles below them. Then the wings opened again, and Eloriel was making a landing in the backyard.

"That was... I have no words," Samantha told Eloriel honestly, "you... To think you can just  _do that, whenever_..."

"I take it for granted, don't I?" Eloriel didn't sound apologetic. She had no reason to, after all, it was the truth. 

"Definitely." Samantha looked to the window behind Eloriel, "seems they're awake."

When Eloriel went inside the house again, leaving Samantha to follow her, she was speaking rather fast.

"I thought I'd take her for a flight since we're working together for this, and she has to get used to it, and I hope that was alright, I mean, if not it's-"

"It's fine." Michael watched her with a masked expression as she bit the end of her rambling off.

"It is?" She asked immediately after, seeking confirmation.

"Yes, and a very good idea. I should have suggested it sooner."

"Guys," Gabriel called from where he stood in the kitchen, an apron on that read 'Winging It' tied around him. It was covered in same spots by flour and in other spots by a bit of spilled milk and crumbs. "I made waffles, I hope you're hungry!"

"Not really", Michael said, and Raphael, who was on the couch and had, based on his angled and sprawling position, had been watching the flight from the window, sounded his agreement with the statement.

"Well, too bad. Three against two. I mean, I'm not hungry, but I assume Eloriel is, Samantha definitely is, and I read online that waffles are a great breakfast food and that this recipe is a good one."

"We won't know until we taste it, I suppose," Raphael said, coming to the kitchen to take a look at the food. "Looks like fancy bread."

"Fancy bread made with  _sugar,_ brother, and therefore much better. You like sugar, don't you?" Gabriel held a waffle up with a teasing smile, waving it in front of his brother's nose before setting it on a plate.

"Isn't it bad for health?"

"Yeah, cause a bit of sugar of all things can kill us." Gabriel rolled his eyes, lacing his voice with sarcasm. "Would you  _relax?_  I made us a nice breakfast, how about we eat it?"

"So you've... Never had waffles before?" Samantha was shocked, "haven't you been on earth for quite a good many years?"

"We don't really have to eat. We eat sometimes but more because it's a thing family traditionally does, not because it's a thing we need. I mean... Unless we just spent lots of energy in more angelic ways." Raphael handed a plate to Eloriel, speaking to her, "which you just did."

Eloriel thanked him quietly and set the plate on the table. The others joined her and Michael smiled, "so, how was it?"

Samantha looked up from her plate, startled by the question, then seemed to realize what it was. "Wonderful, I can't really put it into words." She smiled, "I don't think anything can compare."

"Well, I hope you're ready to do it again tonight? I'd like you to start your job with Eloriel as soon as possible. I want you to be used to it by this time in two days." His gaze flickered back and forth between his brothers. "I received word from Uriel."

That got their attention without fail, their wings lifting like the ears of a horse as if that could help them hear better.

"He says that two months have elapsed in Heaven. So far the Host has been split into four groups, each with an assigned leader."

"Who?" Raphael asked quickly, prompting Michael to pull a letter from his pocket and review it. Lettering in a script Samantha didn't recognize pulsed a faint golden light.

"Randiah, Amiel, Serendael, and Jasiel. All good choices. What do you think?" He set the letter down on the table, but no one made a move to read it for themselves.

"I think Amiel's an interesting choice. He's not a great fighter, unless... Maybe he's changed?" Raphael looked to Michael and to the other angels as well.

"He's never been great in petty fights, I don't think he'll be much good in a war. But he has a way with words, remember? Gabriel, he nearly convinced you to let him use your horn once."

"No, he bribed and blackmailed me. Very different things."

"How on earth and in heaven did he blackmail you?"

"Snooping in on our gambling games. Heard something he wasn't supposed to. Of course, I had to shut him up about it, so I let him have the horn."

"I'm sorry, say that again? You actually let him have it?" Michael's eyes narrowed as Raphael's did the opposite, growing wider.

"Come on, the second he touched it he regretted it. No harm was done. Well, that is, not a lot of harm was done."

"What did you do to him?" Eloriel asked, engrossed in the tale.

"Not me, the horn. It burned him pretty badly. Seems that like most powerful weapons, it has a preferred wielder."

"Am I following this right?" Samantha questioned, "This angel named Amiel heard a secret, blackmailed Gabriel into letting him have the horn, and the horn burned him because it's self-aware."

"Not self-aware, no, it's something I don't think humans have a word for yet." Michael said, "anyways, back to the letter, I noticed he only included a single veteran from the last war."

"Jasiel," the other two siblings said in unison. They looked to each other briefly and then back to Michael.

"Maybe she was the only one willing to help?" Raphael suggested, and Michael shook his head.

"Uriel could have his pick of the host. Maybe he's trying to train new leaders?"

"That makes sense, seeing as the old ones are mostly dead." Gabriel commented, and added, "although surely new leaders would have stepped up naturally since the first war? It would have taken a while but it could have happened recently-"

"I hate to break this up," Eloriel said suddenly, "but your waffles are going cold while you're debating whether or not some war leaders are still alive or not with no way to get a definite answer." There was a silence in the room, one that nearly clashed with the emotion and conversation that filled it moments ago.

"She has a point," Michael concluded once Eloriel's words made full sense to him. The process admittedly took a bit longer than usual, with the ringing of conversation still in his mind. "I'm going to take the letter to my office, you guys can-"

"Eat with you. Don't ditch us mid-meal, Michael." Gabriel caught his hand and refused to let go. "You always do that. Come on, angelic politics can wait. And Samantha can't really follow them, and I don't want her to feel not included."

"I find it rather entertaining," Samantha confessed, "mostly because I keep thinking about how the birds at the park would sit on branches and chatter to each other, refusing to move from the branch, but the moment one moved, more would take its spot for no reason other than to do it."

"So we're birds now?" Gabriel dropped Michael's hand and feigned a hurt expression, exaggerating a pout. His wings were poofed up more than before, but it couldn't be said whether that was on purpose or not.

"Plus four wings," Eloriel said, obviously supporting Samantha's point. "And minus the body of a bird."

"As for the brains of a bird," Raphael said, looking to Gabriel, "actually, that's debatable. Just eat the food, won't you?"

Gabriel pulled a face toward him and dug his fork into the waffle. He took a large bite and began eating as fast as he could with no regard to the syrup that went  _everywhere_.

"Please don't tell me that just-" Michael looked to his wings, where a few feathers were stuck in a clump of maple-scented misery. His jaw clenched and he looked to Gabriel, who recoiled a bit.

"Sorry," he said quietly, not looking Michael in the eyes. Michael sighed and shook his head. The wing with the syrup on it was twitching as if trying to shake it off.

"I guess I'll be smelling nice all day, right? I'm going to take another shower and try to get this out, after breakfast." He took his plate and began eating, his eyes lighting up toward Gabriel, "you know what, I think I can forgive you so long as you make waffles tomorrow as well..." His voice trailed off teasingly.

"I'd be happy to if you let me use the shower first," Gabriel replied.

"What?" Michael sputtered, "First of all, you use all the hot water. Secondly, you'll make the waffles as a favor owed, so I don't owe you another favor in return. That's like adding one to negative one to make zero but then adding one again. It's not zero anymore if you do that."

"Does that make sense in your head? Cause it doesn't out loud," Raphael grinned, finishing his meal. Samantha was picking at the waffles and he noticed the glances she cast in Eloriel's direction.

"I'll leave you to it, then," He said, taking his plate to the kitchen and washing it, also grabbing the one Gabriel handed to him on his way past.

"Can we talk?" Samantha motioned slightly to the lounge that branched off from the living room, two skylights letting in sun. Eloriel stood and stretched.

"Sure," she responded and joined Samantha on the couch. "What's bothering you? I didn't scare you off with the flight did I?" She seemed concerned and Samantha rushed to clarify the situation.

"No, I loved that. I'm just really, really worried. Eloriel, I'm a human who discovered that angels, heaven, and everything alongside... That it's all real and that I have a way of helping a bunch of angels protect heaven from the enemy... You know, I consider myself old by human standards. 43 years of age, but I'm still doing good, you know? And my body's in good shape, just starting to show more serious signs of aging. Then I meet you and you're not only very, very old but immortal and suddenly my entire existence seems so small and devoid of any sort of a point. I'm just going to die in 40, 50 years if I'm lucky, and then what? Life goes on perfectly normal for everyone else, I suppose, in the grand scheme of things."

"You talk almost as much as Raphael," Eloriel said, "and immortality is something even we struggle to understand. I don't think humans can begin to comprehend it either."

"But the point I'm trying to make is that I could die very soon. And I've realized that despite considering myself old, I have a lot of living left to do. But if I'm living and fearing that at any moment some sort of unknown enemy angel is going to attack us, then I'm not truly living. I guess... I don't know what to do and was hoping you could help."

"Well," Eloriel paused to choose her words carefully, "I get through things by living in the present. Time is linear and only goes one way- So what's done is done. I'd love to say that if you want to leave, you can, but Michael doesn't think that way, not from what I've gathered. I've known these guys about as long as you have-" She ignored Samantha's disbelieving look- "but I've picked up on their mannerisms. Michael probably wants you in his hands, or else our enemies could find you and get you to help them instead."

"So he sees me as a tool?"

"Who doesn't he see as a tool? Everything in heaven is structured, nothing is really left random or chaotic. After Lucifer fell, our dad made the loss of free will permanent, but only for the angels still in heaven and loyal to heaven at the time, which is why we're facing a second rebellion. Anyways, dad left for a while. At first, the Archangel Metatron stepped up for a while. But his whole Jesus scheme had a big backlash in heaven, seeing as he dragged so many into is. I heard that Gabriel was pissed about it all. Not a lot of angels liking the idea of people being forgiven left and right for what they had done, as well. And because he isn't dad, he couldn't just make it the way things were regardless of opinions. He later went into hiding, probably to wherever our dad is now."

"Eloriel, you're doing that thing where you give me too much information at once. You're saying the angels on earth after the fall have free will and are able to rebel because of it, Jesus was Metatron's idea and not God's, and he went into hiding later?"

"Right, you totally got it. Anyways, with him gone, Michael stepped up into what was arguably his rightful place leading Heaven. He had been letting Metatron get away with a lot up to that point but it was time for a change. So he reformed several areas of Heaven and later started the program to get angels living on earth."

"So it's a program? Like... Angelic foreign exchange?"

"I have no idea what foreign exchange is but based on the words alone it sounds fitting. All angels who wanted to go to earth took a quick placement test- yes, there are tests in heaven, but mostly to keep everyone organized- and the ones to go were drawn from a lottery that had the names of those who did best."

"You were one of them?"

"Oh yeah, I did pretty well. Luck, really, I happened to have great management skills and was able to guarantee myself a job as Starbucks once I was down, so off I went and here I am. I didn't expect to become so involved either, though. I just want to... Prove myself, I guess. To other angels, I'm practically a child, at best a crazy teenager who is obsessed with foreign culture."

"I'm too old and you're too young. Even when the reality of things is the opposite." Samantha sighed, "that's my life now. Speaking of life, I should call my sister Amy. She's always busy but... We haven't spoken in a while. She'll want to know how things are going, I'll have to tell her it's fine..." She smiled sadly to Eloriel and stood up, "I'm going to do that now, then. I look forward to tonight's flight."

Eloriel watched her leave the room, then slid down on the couch so her wings were bunched higher behind her. She knew that Samantha was going through something similar to what she was going through, but having a harder time since she hadn't been used to heavenly creatures until recently. Eloriel pitied her, but couldn't help but be admired by the courage Samantha showed that so many angels called mortal stupidity. Her mind replayed the morning's flight on a loop, she closed her eyes, and wing beats in her mind carried her into a dream.

With a mortal on the phone, , an angel sleeping calmly, an angel in the shower dealing with maple syrup, and two in the kitchen discussing a new TV show, life had nearly returned to normal since Uriel's departure. But nothing stayed the same in their house for long, and change was flying ever closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title for this chapter: Exposition via Waffles.
> 
> Aka: I realized I needed an explanation as to how the whole Jesus thing happened when, in the story, God is more or less absent. Conclusion: It was Metatron's fault. You could also opt to ignore it all because honestly, Jesus is not relevant to this story. Probably won't be mentioned much if at all again.  
> Also, I love Eloriel and Samantha having a friendship, Samantha being an old(ish) human and Eloriel being a young(ish) angel, both of them wanted to prove themselves useful somehow. I hope you enjoy that as well!


	12. Mission Mostly Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 nighttime missions are taken on at the same time. Results vary. From this experiment, it can be concluded that messing with archangels is a bad idea.

If Samantha thought flying in the day was fun, she was wrong.  
  
Flying at night was even better.  
  
It was cold, and she was wearing several layers to protect herself from the wind chill, but Eloriel managed to hold on tightly regardless.  
  
"Landing now," she told Samantha, and they came to the ground again behind a building in an alleyway. Emerging from it, Samantha looked around at the streets. They were rather busy, but no one had seen them landing and no one seemed to notice the silver wings that stretched to encompass the entrance to the alley.  
  
"How many angels did I miss seeing before I could see you guys?" She asked, looking around with squinted eyes and hoping to spot some.  
  
"Probably quite a few. This is a rather busy but not-to-busy part of town, Michael said it's a good place to search. So, walk the streets a bit for about ten blocks, window shop, get something to eat... Just keep an eye out on the ground and in the sky."  
  
"Are you finally going to tell me why you can't come along?"  
  
"Because they would see me, obviously. The point of you helping us is so that they don't know we're spying on them and getting a count. Raphael and Gabriel are on their own mission across town right now, but there's is of a different nature and they don't need our help. So right now it's up to you."  
  
"Right." Samantha looked out into the street. A cold wind blew her hair behind her, the ends brushing past her chin and whipping wildly at the back of her neck. She wrapped her scarf, which was looped several times around her neck, a bit tighter and her head shrunk down into it.  
  
"I'll meet you at Starbucks in three hours." Eloriel said, "don't be over ten minutes late or I'll have to search for you."  
  
"Sure," said Samantha, on her way already, "three hours."  
  
Eloriel stood for a moment, watching the woman walk down the sidewalk, then she spread her wings and went to report back to Michael. 

* * *

  
  
Gabriel hated this. He knew what fear felt like, but the fear he felt in the first war was immediate, and he could take action during it. But these chills in his bones and tumbling in his stomach just lent to the discomfort he felt as he leaned against the angle of the roof.  
  
"There," Raphael whispered. He was leaning next to them, using his darker-colored wings to cover them. Gabriel leaned forward enough to look down over the other side and saw a group of angels standing in front of the door. So the rebels were meeting there- Michael had been correct. The order had come as a shock to Gabriel, and when Michael told him the plan he had stood motionless in the living room for a good minute. But the argument that he needed to develop leadership skills was a strong one, and Raphael really needed to help out more instead of moping around the human. He had been obsessed, as far as Gabriel saw it, always in a poor mood when she did so much as refuse to sit by him. He had also been speaking a lot with Eloriel, although that wasn't a terrible thing.  
  
Gabriel watched as the five angels entered the house below them. He caught a brief glimpse of their angelic forms, but it wasn't helpful. One was cherubim, he could tell, but some sorts of angels didn't have an appearance that matched their Choir exactly. Like the swirling ribbons of what looked like DNA (the chemistry textbook left on Uriel's desk had been useful!) but with 3 spiraling sides instead of 2. Or the one that resembled one of the inflatable tube-men in front of car dealerships, but growing strange bubbles on the surface that continuously popped and reformed. The forms had no glow to them as most angels would, but they still prevailed. He noted their tattered wings. The seemed usable, but barely so.

He could hear them talking, out here where the roar of a nearby highway drowned out surrounding noise.

"Are they inside?" The ribbon one asked, gesturing toward the door.

"Everyone is ready. I know it wasn't the turn out you were hoping for," the bubbling angel responded, "but relaying messages without flight is hard, maybe if you-"

The ribboned angel, whose wings seemed most functional of the five, shook their head. "We can't risk it. Now then, are we standing out here all night?"

"One more thing, actually," interrupted an angel who had been silent up until now. His form seemed to be a large ball of glass with icy patterns creeping over the sides. "If we have to leave fast, how are we going to get everyone out? Even if half of our guests can fly, that leaves at least a thousand who will be left behind."

"Don't worry about it right now. I told you, the warding I had Posinel put up will keep out any of heaven's songbirds. Come on, I'm getting cold."

The five angels retreated into the house and Gabriel looked at his brother, their faces shadowed by his wing.

"Two thousand angels," he said, "within flying and driving distance."

"Posinel," Raphael added, "I don't remember them, but maybe Michael will." He looked around, "a warding, huh? That explains the weird itch on my wings."

"You feel that too?" Gabriel frowned, "it seems it only keeps out ordinary angels. That's something in our favor, then."

"And at least a thousand of them can fly," Raphael continued, "So those are likely ones who allied after the Fall, then. The ones with the working wings."

"Barely working, by the looks of it. But regardless, that means an aerial attack would be hard to pull off."

"Should we go see Michael?"

"No, he probably has his hands busy monitoring the others. Let's wait a bit longer."

So, pressing an ear to the roof and straining to catch the noise of the gathering below, the angels waited. 

* * *

 

"Eloriel, you're back. Did the flight there go well?" Michael stood, having been on the living room writing in a binder. He closed it and set it down, facing Eloriel. 

"It did," she answered, standing as well. It was only when Michael took his seat again that she hurried around the couch to sit as well. "She enjoys it, I can tell. The walking part of it... I'm not sure."

"She's capable of it," Michael said, not speaking further or letting slip any hint of plans. Eloriel pressed her lips together and rummaged her mind for words to say, to express her concern.

"Michael," she spoke with the angelic pronunciation once again. She hadn't been doing it recently, but with what she was about to say... "She's a 43-year-old mortal, are you sure she can handle something like this? It's just... Isn't that rather old for them, mentally if not physically?" She was frozen in the next several moments, that dragged out as Michael didn't reply. She was about to speak again when he replied at last and her ears strained to hear his tone. To her surprise, he wasn't angry. He wasn't even upset. He only gave a reply slowly, with much consideration:

"Yes."

She met his eyes for a moment and they seemed to hold all his experiences within them, the glow of light being spun into the universe, the spark of light caused from colliding planets seen from afar, and the deep blue of a world that was entirely an ocean, until traces of green grew and flourished over them. She lost track of what color his eyes truly were, and yet when she blinked away, no time had passed.

"I often wonder if it was a mistake," Michael continued. "Bringing her onto this team we have. I don't know what caused her to see our wings, and I don't know if she can handle being a spy for a war that isn't hers. But I do know she is  _capable_."

Eloriel tried not to hold her breath, "and me?" She asked, "what do you think of me?"

"That it's a good thing you're on earth. You ask far too many questions to be in structured combat like the sort Uriel's training. But curiosity is a trait for spies, for people like you who can help out before the battle arrives."

Eloriel didn't know whether what he had said was a compliment or not. "Thanks," she replied quietly, "speaking of which... Will it ever arrive?"

"Don't be getting impatient," Michael warned, "the more time we have the better. I just need your help for one more task before then, if we can manage that."

Eloriel shifted to stand up straighter, attentive, ready for his assignment.

"I need your help to gather our allied angels on earth to help defend humanity."

Eloriel thought to the things she had seen during her time on earth- wars that nearly ended the world, civilizations collapse into chaos, technology spreading like fire until the earth sparkled at night. "Humans need defending?"

Michael looked nearly mad, frustrated with how she was taking this. His wings spread without his intent to, and the room seemed to be illuminated by more intense lighting. In a far more serious tone, with a raised voice, he spoke. "When there's an  _angelic war_ being waged over their heads? Yes,  _Eloriel_ , they need protection. When Lucifer brought his battle against heaven down to earth, what human civilization there was suffered. Villages were destroyed. Records in the earliest form of writing lost to flame and ash. Settlements were destroyed entirely. So yes, they do. Once everyone is back, we'll go work on that."

Eloriel was silent, waiting for Michael to speak again. When he did not, she nodded slowly.

"I understand, Michael." She had to restrain herself from running as she climbed the steps and went to her bedroom, waiting for the rest of the time to pass. 

* * *

 

"I told you," Gabriel boasted, watching the angels leaving the house. One by one they took flight or drove away (several left on foot), and the cover of darkness concealed the two archangels pressed against the roof from their eyes. The waited in silence as hundreds left the building that seemed far too small, and once the very last had made it over a distant hill, Raphael voiced his response.

"Shut up. Did you get an exact count?"

"2,137," Gabriel replied, his eyes unblinking as he watched the surrounding trees for signs of any lingering rebels. "1,052 of which can fly."

"Can we go now?" Raphael was a bit annoyed that Gabriel was now in a leading position. He tended to overthink things.

"Sure," Gabriel replied, and Raphael moved his wing so they could stand up on the sloping surface. Leaping upwards, they took flight, but Raphael reached a hand up and grabbed Gabriel's ankle before he could rise further up. 

"Wait," he said, casting wild glances toward the edge of the forest. "Something's wrong."

Gabriel was halfway through shaking his head when a shrill bird call split the silence, and then everything went still again as if the world was holding its breath. Centuries of honed instinct kicked in and Gabriel had assumed a stance for aerial combat in less than a second, Raphael quickly following him. And as if that was their cue, two angels burst from the foliage and flew top speed at the archangels.

That was a mistake.

The attacking angels had wings that were sparse, with barely enough feathers to fly in the first place. Gabriel pivoted in flight, one of his own wings smacking across the nearest angel, who nearly fell from the sky. With a look of rage, he flew forward and tackled him, weak feathers flying into the air.

Raphael grabbed his attacker, his hands moving fast as his wings as he pulled an arm backward, a loud snap ringing in his ears. His fingers dug into flesh as he struggled to keep his grip. He reached out with his other hand, blindly flailing due to an oncoming hand reaching for his face. Fingers grabbed around his chin and Raphael struggled to keep flying with the added weight, his wings working furiously to beat the air. He knew he was quickly losing altitude and he spread his wings as wide as he could, hoping to slow the descent. He felt something soft in his hand and grabbed a handful of feathers, his fingers curling around the bone hidden beneath and wrenching the wing forward, his other hand now working to break it at the joint. One glance showed him Gabriel with his arms in a choke-hold around the other angel, and he called to his brother.

"Keep them alive for now!"

Gabriel, a bitter look about him, nodded and raised a hand, knocking the angel unconscious with a single blow to the neck. Raphael followed suit, sinking faster back towards the roof with the weight.

"I think we should take them back," he said, and Gabriel nodded, looking down at the angel in his arms. She was limp, her head rolled over to the side, but she was alive.

"A... Agreed. Let's go."

With aching wings and straining arms, they carried the angels as they flew again. 

* * *

 

Michael stared down at the unconscious rebels, wishing Eloriel was here to bear witness to the information they would soon be getting. She had left minutes before to pick up Samantha, and as soon as the house had gone quiet it had been busy once again.

"Excellent," he said, circling them. They were seated in chairs, bound with only strips of paper upon which symbols glowed and twisted.

"Excellent?" Raphael echoed. "So the mission was a success?"

"Even more than I hoped. The news isn't the best, I was hoping for less flying rebels, but we have an accurate count and two prisoners thanks to you." Michael smiled- actually  _smiled_ , genuinely- at his brothers and nodded. "Now we wait for them to wake up."

"Samantha will be back soon, right?" Gabriel asked, "won't this be a bit much for her to see?" He was circling the two chairs, his eyes tracing the lettering, triple-checking that each stroke was correct.

"I suppose you're right that it may be difficult, but this is our enemy. And I'm sure she's seen plenty tonight already, remember." Michael looked past Gabriel now, "Raphael, I want you to help me extract information."

Raphael was shocked by this, as shown by the disbelief and surprise etched over his face. He had never done this before, and he never thought... "You want me to torture them? Michael, are you serious? That's pretty much the opposite of my job!"

"Your job is precisely why you're so good at it." He looked into Raphael's eyes, searching for something, and sighed slowly, "but I suppose I can handle this myself." 

A thud sounded on the front porch and he looked back to the chairs. "Keep them here for now so she can see the enemy. Then we can move them to the basement."

Eloriel entered, and Samantha tailed her closely, a large smile on her face.

"That went  _way_ better than expected! I found what seems to be a meeting spot of sorts and I heard so-" Her speech cut off abruptly when she saw the angels constrained. "Oh, uh... Those are new. I take it we aren't friends with them, either."

"No, we aren't." Michael gestured to the angels, who were beginning to stir. "Samantha, meet our enemy. Fallen angels who have risen to rebel again."

Samantha looked at them, first at the wings, mouthing what looked to be concerned words brought on by the state they were in, then second at the paper binding them.

"What's this?" She reached out and Gabriel gently pushed her hand away. 

"Please don't touch the bindings, they can be delicate to the touch of anyone who they haven't been made to hold," he explained. "They're made to hold angels."

The first angel, closest to Michael, began to awake. Green eyes blinked open, and short brown hair reached down to brush his lashes. His hand twitched up as to brush it away- probably from habit- but was caught against the restraints, which glowed as his hand was pushed back down. He looked wildly from angel to angel, struggling to understand. As his lips pressed together, he turned his head to his right and saw the second angel, a woman who had hazel eyes and dark brown hair that seemed nearly black in shadow. He looked concerned as his eyes scanned for signs of breathing, and he relaxed the slightest bit when he found the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes were opening, and he spoke at last.

"Who are you?" If he had been in the first war, as his wings suggested he had, he should have known. Clearly, the time since the fall had taken its toll, even on the divine.

"You know us," said Michael, stepping forward. "So perhaps you'll introduce yourselves and we can all be in the know."

"I know you?" Genuine confusion clouded his face and the woman hitched a breath.

"Michael," she said, and the male angel grew visibly panicked. "Then the guys we attacked-" Gabriel and Raphael both stepped forward and raised their hands helpfully.

"You know me as Gabriel-"

"And I'm Raphael."

The man's eyes flickered back and forth between them, "I'm Wistel." He looked to his partner, but she refused to say anything.

"This is-"

"Don't you dare, Wes," she responded.

"They're only going to force it from us anyway, come on!" When he met no further complaint, he continued addressing Michael, "this is Sapiel." She glared at him as if trying to put a message into her words, but if there was something there, Michael couldn't tell what it was. It reminded him of how Uriel often did the same, sometimes getting frustrated that no one was speaking even though whatever he had said to them wasn't spoken aloud at all.

"Not very wise, huh?" Gabriel looked at the blank faces. It seemed only Eloriel really got the joke he made. "Never mind."

At this point, Eloriel motioned for Samantha to follow her upstairs, and the two of them retreated the tense atmosphere of the living room.

"What do you want?" Sapiel asked. "Information? A count of the rebels?"

"We have a count." Michael said, "we just need you to tell us the plan and then we'll be off."

The two of them exchanged looks, and Wistel spoke, "No." If he had only just a minute before shown that he'd give information up willingly, this must be something far more important than mere names. Whatever their plan was, it was worth a lot to them if they succeeded.

Raphael was quick to whisper into Michael's ear, "if they fought in the war, our methods of extracting information will be known to them."

"We will do what we can regardless," Michael decided, "bring them to the basement."

Gabriel and Raphael together grabbed Wistel's chair and lifted it. Sapiel was next, struggling as she was carried, but the binding stayed true and she was kept in place.

Upstairs, in her bedroom, Samantha was sitting with Eloriel. She had one hand on Eloriel's wings, absentmindedly playing with the feathers, and Eloriel was scrolling on her phone. She seemed to be on an app of images, scrolling down and occasionally tapping several times.

"What's that?" Samantha asked, leaning on her friend's shoulder. She squinted at the phone, taking in the images scrolling down the screen. "Is that Pinterest?"

"I've been using it lately, yes. Have you used it before?" She turned to look at Samantha.

"I tried it. Some friends of mine were using it and my sister loves it. I just couldn't quite figure it out." She pointed to a picture that showed up, of an old temple that had fallen. "What's this?"

"That's a place I used to visit. I'm finding pictures of places I've lived or been here on earth so I can make a collection of them." She opened a folder on the app, "these are places from the area you call Greece, remember when I told you about that?" She exited it and her finger scrolled down. Samantha put a hand on her wrist to stop her.

"This one says 'Heaven', how can you have pictures of heaven?"

"It's mostly architecture and landscape," Eloriel replied, tapping the icon and opening a page of images. Several features stained glass and arched roofs, some had sprawling fields and marble statues, and several seemed to be images showcasing emotion instead of any subject, with abstract watercolors and glowing lights underwater. Samantha scrolled through them all, taking a few minutes to really look at each picture. She was particularly fond of the white and gold images, be it a curling banister or a window frame featured.

"You must miss it, huh?" She asked, and Eloriel nodded a sort of half-nod, then thought about it.

"I mean yes, but-" they both jumped as a noise came through the house from a distant room, a strange scream or cry that sounded harsh on the vocal cords. "But not all of it," Eloriel continued.

"You heard that, right?" Samantha asked, her face an emotion Eloriel hadn't really seen much before. It was a face frozen in a fight or flight response, of someone who had chosen to freeze without quite knowing why.

"Yes." Eloriel didn't bother to lie. "They must be interrogating our prisoners."

"How are they-"

"Don't bother asking. Probably some angelic magic, or maybe physical weapons." She looked excited a moment later, "speaking of which, want to see my spear? I got it when Michael promoted me since I had only been Cherubim. But Powers are angels of defense, that is, warriors. And even though I have no formal training, I got my own weapon!"

"I..." Samantha cast a nervous look to the floor as if she could see through it and the one below that. She knew Eloriel was trying to distract her, but she also knew that she really,  _really_ wanted to be distracted. "Sure, Eloriel, that sounds great."

Eloriel held a hand in front of her, closing and opening a fist, and a long silver staff appeared as if falling from an invisible bag that had been turned over and shaken. It was taller than she was, and on the top was a small point. A few inches below that, around the body of the spear, was a metal circle that had 2 points curving back towards the ground, then extending outward and swooping upwards in a curve to be barely a centimeter from touching again several inches higher than the tip of the spear itself. The effect turned a spear into a 2 pronged weapon of elegance and control, although it seemed far more clumsy in Eloriel's hands.

"It's beautiful, but you do know how to use it, right?" Samantha oggled the spear, amazed at the way it appeared from nothing and even more dazzled by the appearance of it.

"Oh, I know how to use a spear, it's just... Been a while." She read the concerned look she was getting. "Don't fret too much about it, I'll relearn quickly, I'm sure." Another noise of pain came from two floors below, and Eloriel squeezed the spear and opened her hand from the fist, letting it vanish back to wherever it came from. She put a protective hand on Samantha, who was pale in the face.

"I don't like this," she was saying, "I mean seeing  _angels_ and things like that? Fine, I'm fine with that now, as weird as it is. But actually experiencing this? A war that doesn't involve humans but could near destroy them? That's too much and the possibility is becoming far too real." She drew her legs up onto the bed. "I live in an angel's house now as a spy for their war-"

"Speaking of which, what did you find out today?" Eloriel asked, jumping on the chance to distract the mortal.

"I came across a cafe wedged between a barbershop and a flower shop. It seems like it's a popular place to meet, there were six angels there whispering to themselves. I ordered a coffee and overheard enough to find out that some of them have been spreading rumors with each other about a surprise attack, but it sounded like a small thing, like guerilla warfare, the whole attack-and-run sort of thing." Samantha hurried her explanation, anxious to see how Eloriel would respond.

"Samantha, that's awesome, I'm sure Michael will love to hear the news."

Samantha smiled, but her relief faded and the expression dropped, " _If_ he hears. I think he listens to you more, you know, you being an angel as well and all of that."

Eloriel didn't deny it. She tilted her head in silence, "I think they're done." She walked back down the hallway, descending the stairs and turning through the hall into the kitchen and living room area. Gabriel was watching his brothers with a thoughtful face, heavily laced with concern, and Michael was talking to Raphael in a strained tone. He saw Eloriel and sighed, his hands ceasing their sharp, short gestures and falling back down. His feathers were quite literally ruffled, standing on end with annoyance.

"Nothing." He said, then turned and slouched onto the counter, "no contacts, information, whereabouts,  _nothing_. And now we have two bodies to deal with." 

"Want me to get them?" Raphael offered, and Michael shook his head almost regretfully.

"Thank you, Raphael, but I can take care of it myself."

Raphael stepped closer and looked at the creases on his face, the tension of his shoulders and the state of his wings. He shook his head. "No, you're overworking yourself and you're too stressed to do much of anything right now. Go take a shower, get a cup of tea or something, and relax."

It looked as if they were having a staring contest, the two of them almost eye to eye and standing impossibly still. Then to the collective surprises of everyone present, Michael nodded and stepped back. 

"Thank you, Raphael." He left the room and everyone was quiet, listening to his footsteps fade. Nobody moved for a solid minute and Raphael near jumped when Gabriel cleared his throat.

"So, it's pretty late and I know we're all pumped with adrenaline, but don't you think we should call it a night?"

"It's 11, that's not _super_ late. Besides, I got a job to do. And if you help me, you know, we could get it done twice as fast."

Gabriel stared blankly at his brother and gently flicked him with his feathers. "Nah dude, I'm not going near them. Bodies are so weird looking up close like that."

"Don't remind me," Raphael replied, making his way to the basement stairs in a side room. He nearly tripped over the edge of a rug and turned around to get a face full of dust. Looking at it a moment, he called out scoldingly, "If you wanted to keep junk like carpets from 600 BC, Gabriel, be my guest, but  _dust them out every once in a while_ _!"_

"Okay, first of all, those are from the Hanging Gardens and secondly they're priceless artifacts, I want to avoid handling them!"

Raphael leaned further out of the door to look at Gabriel, "then bring your souvenir collection to a museum so they don't go to waste. If you don't mind, then, I'll try not to trip on the way back up."

Gabriel left the group and entered the room as well, "Fine, I'll move it." He bent down and began to roll it up. "I can take a hint," he grumbled. From the main room, Michael watched them with folded arms and damp wings, seeming amused and refreshed from the shower he took until he looked towards Samantha and seemed to remember something.

"Samantha, I need to know what you found. Would you mind coming up to my office with me? You as well, Eloriel." It seemed the shower hadn't helped him relax much.

Eloriel followed them up the stairs, realizing that her limbs were aching from carrying Samantha.  _Gabriel and Raphael carried two angels back after fighting them? How on earth and in heaven did they do that?_ Probably practice, that seemed to always be the case.

"Uh, Michael?" Samantha piped up, "It's pretty late, and I don't know if you guys sleep, but I'd like-"

"Say no more," Michael stopped in his tracks, looking nearly relieved. "We can discuss this tomorrow. Goodnight, Samantha. You too, Eloriel."

They repeated the phrase, departed to their rooms, and minutes later the two angels remaining downstairs followed with a bit more noise than was appropriate.

"Shut up!" Came the call from Michael's room. The hallway was filled with laughter, which died as everyone finally settled, and the night ended at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke Gabriel makes with the name Sapiel is that the term 'sapiens' is a Latin word meaning 'wise'. Gabriel thus jokes that Sapiel isn't very wise, as her name would suggest. Eloriel understands the joke because she knows a bit of vocabulary from old languages, and the other angels just don't notice the joke or don't care enough to respond (take your pick)


	13. Games and Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of charades is played, Samantha learns a bit more about the place called heaven, and the angels swap memories of the past.

Days passed with no strange occurrences. For a while, everyone was on edge. Every faint creak of the trees outside meant sitting a bit straighter, listening closer, preparing for whatever came next. Michael took to his habit of sleeping with his sword under his bed every night. Gabriel couldn't even get to sleep. Raphael sat awake in bed for hours deep into the night, hoping and praying for Uriel to be doing alright in heaven. Down the hall, Eloriel slept soundly, exhausted from flying Samantha over town again, and Samantha was deep into her dreams. Days stretched together, and it felt like forever until two weeks passed in this manner.

The first awake, Michael stood next to the coffee pot with a mug in hand, a dead look in his eyes as his brain refused to work yet. Raphael was slumped sideways into a chair. Gabriel came downstairs, joined Michael, and began to fill a large water bottle with coffee.

"Are you alright?" Eloriel made the mistake of asking. Three pairs of eyes turned to stare blankly at her, and Raphael spoke slowly and with heavy words-

"No." He pulled himself into a sitting position and swiveled to face her. "We are all tired-" The other two archangels nodded with each of his points- "stressed, on edge, and panicked. Not to mention," he held up a finger, emphasizing his point, "we are all running entirely off of coffee."

"How about sleeping now? During the day?" Eloriel suggested. "I can wake you up if anything happens."

"If something big happens, we'll be dead before we wake," argued Michael. Samantha, from the corner of the kitchen where she had been making toast, stepped forward closer to the angels.

"Can... Can't Gabriel make those wards, that protect things, I mean he did make those binding strips..." She looked from angel to angel, none of whom were looking at her. A painful silence swelled between them until Gabriel slammed down his bottle of coffee, causing Michael to jump and Raphael took jolt his head up.

"We are all  _idiots!"_ He scolded, "how did we not think of that!" He began pushing past Michael to the door. Michael looked as if he wanted to stop his brother, but fatigue slowed his reflexes. Gabriel jumped upwards and a loud noise was heard from the roof.

"He's up there, isn't he." It was not a question that Raphael spoke.

"Yes." Michael tilted his head upwards. "Listen, it appears he still knows how to do this."

Words echoed from the rooftop as if spreading downwards and bouncing back in a shield over the house. Threads of white light drew Samantha's attention, causing her to run to the window and press her hands against the glass. Vibrations ran through it, and she could feel them in the floor, shooting up into her feet. Listening closely, she heard the words from above coming down, causing prickles to go up along her spine and a high pitched whine to echo in her head.

**"OGI GEDON ZIR QAAS** **. YOR! OIT VANGEM. BALT OGI GEDON. BALT GE GANEBUS TELOCH."**

"What is he saying?" She asked, with her hands clapped over her ears.

"With this holy speech," Michael began saying, "I am creating. Roar, this is the will of heaven. Justice with this holy speech. Justice is not angelic death." The words echoed Gabriel's, which were repeating themselves and surrounding the house. The sounds eventually faded, and a faint buzzing remained in Samantha's mind. She shook her head as if to clear it. 

"That should let us know if any rebel angels pass the perimeter. Any sort of angels with thoughts of or intent to cause _gane-_ " he caught himself before slipping back into the Enochian language, "-angelic death." He smiled in the direction of Michael, but his eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere, idle and tired. "Maybe now, you can get some decent sleep, right?"

"Right," Raphael said, "if you're done with that, I'd like to know why nothing had happened around here for a couple of weeks. I know it's good, but if the rebels are gaining such a count of members, why haven't they made any moves yet?"

"I'd like to know as well," Gabriel said, looking expectantly at Michael with eyes that were now far more alert. Samantha lingered across the counter next to Eloriel, who was just a bit too timid still to demand answers from Michael.

"I'm working on it," he answered, "none of this is easy, you know."

"I think we should play some of those games Samantha taught us a while ago," Eloriel suggested and turned to her friend. "Do you know any others?"

A devious sort of look came to the woman as her eyes flickered amongst the angels. "Yeah," she responded, "I know a few. Have you ever heard of charades?"

 

"You draw one of these papers," explained Samantha, "without showing it to us. Then you have to act out what it says, and we all have to guess. You cannot talk or make any noises."

"Oh," said Michael, with a look of recognition, "I used to play this time to time at dinner parties when meeting city officials, sometime in the early 1800s."

"Been a while then, huh?" Samantha commented.

"Not really," Michael said dismissively, and Samantha's train of thought stuttered a bit at his casual tone. Of course, it wouldn't be a while to him, he'd likely see the passage of time as a few days or hours, even maybe seconds compared to his incredible, mind-boggling long life.

"Well," she continued, "I used to play all the time with my mother and grandfather. Who'd like to go first?"

Raphael stepped up, reaching into the bowl of paper and drawing a slip. He unfolded it in the palm of his hand, read it as he concealed it from the others, then laughed and put it in his pocket.

"Alright," he said, taking a minute to think it over. He began a series of motions with his limbs: one hand would reach up and drag down, followed by the other, and his legs as well. Sometimes he would turn his body a bit to the side and look up, craning his head around. 

"A very strange sort of marching," guessed Michael.

"Going up very steep stairs," said Eloriel, then shook her head as she realized it didn't quite fit.

"Trying to play 'don't-touch-the-floor' in the 50th cathedral back in heaven?" Gabriel guessed, "I mean, I always thought that to have 50 chandeliers was a bit much but it was rather entertaining trying to navigate them like a messed up jungle gym."

Eloriel put a hand to her head. "We are all idiots," she proclaimed loudly, echoing what Gabriel had said that morning over coffee. "It's a tree. You're climbing a tree."

Raphael ceased his actions with a grateful expression. "About time you got it," he grumbled, "although I think the chandeliers would be far more fun. You know, since trees have more pokey bits and such."

"Those are called twigs," Gabriel informed his brother with a matter-of-fact tone, and Raphael glared.

" _Thanks_ , Gabriel,  _I know."_ He motioned to the bowl of paper with an open hand. "Who's next?"

Gabriel, Michael, and Eloriel exchanged glances and Michael plunged his hand into the bowl. "Right, it seems I will." He withdrew a paper and read it, eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, this is going to be incredibly strange." He took his place in the center of the living room- they had pushed the table aside- and pretended to sit down, his fingers moving as if typing, but staying in more or less the same area.

"Typing," Raphael guessed.

"Writing an email," Eloriel offered. Michael shook his head to both and continued the action, leaning forward as if engrossed by whatever he was doing.

"Talking to someone online," Gabriel said. When he got no response, he tried again. "Playing a game online."

Michael held up a finger, indicating that he was close. His fingers increased and suddenly with an expression of anger, he slammed his fists down onto the pretend table and swept the imaginary computer off of it.

"Being a sore loser!" Raphael crowed. Michael glared slightly toward him, then tilted his head and looked at Samantha with a raised brow.

"It's close," she told Raphael, "try wording it differently."

Gabriel opened his mouth and began rapid-firing guesses. "Losing a game. Being angry at the game. Angry at losing-"

Eloriel cut off Gabriel's rambling with, "Rage-quitting a game."

Samantha seemed delighted as Michael did. "Great job, Eloriel! I wasn't sure if anyone would get the phasing of it."

"I've done it several times. And I've seen my old roommate do it. She was super into this game called Call of Duty."

"Want to go next?" Samantha held the bowl to her and Eloriel hesitatingly advanced towards it, dipping in a hand and plucking a piece of paper. She read it several times, a bit confused. 

"Samantha, I have no idea how to act this out."

Samantha took the paper from her and read it. "Wait, really?"

Eloriel looked down a bit and shook her head, her wings hanging down. Samantha put a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. She folded the paper in half several times and put it on the table to the side.

"It's alright. But you've never cooked spaghetti?"

"Honestly, I've never eaten it. The look of it, all stringy and strange like that... I haven't the faintest idea why, but it just creeps me out. Noodles, octopus, anything looking like that is a hard pass for me."

Samantha gave the angel a strange look as if trying to comprehend the explanation and rapidly failing. "Right, well, you can pick again."

Eloriel smiled brightly and picked her second piece of paper, her smile becoming more of a mischevious smirk. "Oh, I can do this," she said, placing it on the table. Taking a deep breath and centering herself in the room, she stood very still for a few seconds, looking behind, then mimicked grabbing something before she started to run in place. The angels watched her with confusion on their faces- except for Michael, who if he felt any befuddlement, was doing a great job hiding it. Eloriel reached forward with the hand in which she had been holding something and stopped in place, watching in front of her. She seemed to be expectant, waiting for someone to shout a guess, and when no one did, she repeated the actions.

"I... Have no idea what you're doing," Gabriel admitted. His brothers echoed the words in a similar, quieter fashion.

"Oh come on," Eloriel said, "Even I've seen this."

"No talking," Samantha reminded her, smiling from where she had sat down in a chair. It had been pushed to the side, but still offered a view of the center of the room where they were. Looking just behind Eloriel she saw the archangels, Gabriel standing in the front and his brothers to his sides and just behind him, unable to spread out due to being positioned in the corner of the room.

"You're... Running." Gabriel looked at his brothers as if needed encouragement. "And holding something."

"That isn't wrong," Samantha said, nodding, "do you need a hint?"

They fell silent, none of them willing to ask for a hint and take the blow to their pride. With narrowed eyes and contemplative gazes, they watched Eloriel run through her charades a third- or possibly fourth? -time.

"It's a kind of race," Samantha told them, without being asked, because the looks on their faces of such concentration in vain were going to start giving her a headache.

"A..." Raphael trailed off. "Wait, no, I've got this, it's that thing they call a... a relay race!" His face breaks into a victorious grin, and he looked at Samantha with utter certainty that he was right.

"Oh, finally!" Samantha celebrated, tossing up her hands. Eloriel sat in a chair next to Samantha and regarding her fellow angels with a quizzical look.

"How do you not know what relay races are?" She questioned, "you... you've been on Earth longer than I have. Did you never, I don't know... See a race? A festival? A week-long celebration that involved naked people wrestling and running around in circles?" She grinned, unable to stop herself. "Those were pretty great times, they don't really... Do that, anymore."

"We never really interacted much," Michael said, "I mean, when Metatron stepped up briefly after the war, we sort of went along with it and let him do his thing. Then we learned that was a terrible idea and we stepped back from earthly affairs for a while until it was time to start allowing angels back down so we could better understand humanity."

"About that," Samantha piped up. "If someone dies, do they go to heaven? Do they become an angel? Or is it only angels in heaven and people go somewhere else?" She had a fascination on her face as if she were a student about to begin a dissection, and see what went typically unseen.

Michael pondered her question as silent seconds dragged on.

"Are we even allowed to tell her that?" Gabriel asked him in a hushed tone. Michael glanced at Samantha and gently laid his hands on the arms of his brothers, spinning them to face him. They seemed to have a quick discussion, or at least, a discussion that was made to be brief, seeing as Michael stood up rather abruptly. Gabriel and Raphael both had more bitter expression, wanting to say more.

"We will tell you what you need to know for now," he said, and there was little surprise in the room. A decision like this was rather typical of Michael, after all. "When you die, you go to one of three places. If you have sinned grievously- and by that, I mean done more bad than just what faith tells you to avoid, I speak of  _true_ evil- then you go to Hell, which is a rather nasty place. If I was the one to make it I perhaps would change several things but-" he stopped himself, "that is not for me to choose. If you lived a life of mediocracy, not aspiring to much, a few misdemeanors that scar your record, you, or more accurately, your  _soul_ , will go to purgatory, where you will stay for the length of your life and then some to finally be allowed into Heaven, where souls who are considered pure, that is, even bad things were not done in ill intent, go to stay. Heaven, as I speak of it, is infinite, which can be hard to understand."

"That's an understatement," Raphael interrupted, shooting an apologetic glance afterward at Michael and shutting up again.

Michael continued explaining. "It goes on forever, always has and always will, but because nothing is really fluid, two places can be connected by a short walk no matter where you go. But most angels can never go to the part of heaven where human souls are, and human souls cannot be in the same area as the angels. Similar to pushing together two magnets that are repelling each other." He looked at Samantha closely, "That is all I can tell you right now."

"I'm not sure if I regret asking," Samantha said, rather confused but grateful nonetheless for the information. Wrapping her head around this all was hard- but knowing more about it, as much as she could, that helped her make connections where they were needed. "Right then." She stood up and motioned to the bowl of papers. "Who's next?" 

* * *

 

For the next hour, they forgot their troubles.

Sure, enemy angels were out there, lying dormant, but everything was  _here_ now, in their house, their place, where everything was far more manageable. When everyone settled down for an early dinner, there was no quarreling or jokes. They reflected on the game, decided to play more often, and spent a good portion of time neglecting the asparagus and steak in favor of exchanging stories. Just as Samantha had soaked up stories of heaven, the angels were just as fascinated with her childhood.

"Amy was such a brat at that age," she said, leaning over her plate as if they would then hear her better than they already could. "She made it a personal mission to steal or destroy just about anything of mine." Then she stopped, and laughed lightly, "it took a few years before we all realized why she acted that way- it was only misdirected jealousy. When children want something they can't have, they take it, and if it could be taken back from them, they may act out by destroying it so nobody can have it. Amy really wanted what I had, since I was older and she looked up to me, as little sisters sometimes do, but she didn't know how to deal with those feelings." She cut a piece of steak and chewed slowly, and while she was quiet, Eloriel asked a question.

"Is she ever still like that?"

"Oh, no," Samantha said, relief in every measure of her voice. "If she was I would likely never speak to her. No, she grew up into a respectable woman. Doing rather good for herself, too."

Eloriel was silent as she mused over her food, trying and failing to push four pieces of asparagus all onto the prongs of the fork. She finally got it and mentioned again, before eating, "angels aren't really like that. We're born with a personality and it sticks with us."

Samantha looked at the archangels with wide eyes, which crinkled in amusement after studying them for a few moments. "So, you were born-  _Born?_ I... I'm not going to start thinking about that quite yet- Born the way you are now?"

"We weren't born like most angels," Raphael said in response, taking the conversation into his hands (or mouth, really). "We were created from... Nothing, I suppose."

"Quintessence is a fine word," Gabriel offered.

"Of course you would know," Raphael said, not unkindly. 

"And that is?" Samantha trailed off the end of her sentence, leaving the question hanging.

"It comes from the words  _quinta essentia_ , meaning 'fifth essence'," Gabriel hurried to explain, "and was sort of like the fifth element that a bunch of ancient guys thought came after the four other elements of earth, air, water, and fire."

"It's what they thought stars were made of," Raphael continued, "and anything they saw in the heavens, like planets, for example. A few books in heaven's library reference it with theories that it could originate from a misinterpretation of angelic energy."

"When did you have time to read all this and  _remember_ it?" Gabriel was flabberghasted, mouth agape. He hastily closed it. Samantha was finding the entire exchange all too amusing to watch.

"Healing, Gabriel, that's what I do. It's helpful to get a feel for what angelic energy is made of."

"And it's made of what, exactly?"

"Nobody has the slightest idea. Really, dad wasn't very helpful in providing guidelines for that sort of thing. My skills are mostly intuitive, I had to actually study for them to become based in fact and practice." His eyes narrow the slightest bit, and Samantha recognizes jealousy, the same sort she discussed just minutes ago. Raphael looked up to his older brothers, she noticed, far more than he let on. "Unlike someone with knowledge in every language to exist."

"Messenger-ing, Raphael, it's what I do." He parodied his brother's words, then paused, "and apparently my grammar is not intuitive in the slightest sometimes. Is messenger-ing a word?" He looked around, "where's the... Don't we have a dictionary?"

"You're our dictionary," Michael deadpanned, and he received an appreciative look from Raphael and one of startled bewilderment from Gabriel. Samantha, Eloriel, and Raphael had finished eating by this time and stood to clear their dishes from the table. Michael and Gabriel hurried to finish up after them.

It was only around 6:30 in the evening that everyone settled into a calm routine. Taking up three of the four chairs in the living room, the archangels present on earth seated themselves with books, their wings tucked in and leaning forward intently. On the couch across the table, Eloriel sat on her phone playing a word game, and Samantha sat beside her, her phone beside her but not one, her head leaning back with closed eyes. Her breathing was too quick to be asleep, but she was obviously enjoying the peace.

That is, at least, until the angels got to talking.

It must be something they did in heaven, she reasoned, because this happened nearly every other night. As things started to wind down slowly, they would talk amongst themselves and rile it back up. Nothing they spoke up was hurtful, or even overly emotional, just discussing maybe a good book, or sometimes if Samantha was lucky and in the room when it happened, they discussed their own lives from the past. Seeing as they had lived since the beginning of time, Samantha was intent on getting as many stories from them as possible. And they were always good, even when discussing the war they all fought in.

Much like they did now.

"Where did he get his blades?" Asked Raphael, curiously. They had just started talking about Uriel. "No one else had a pair like them. I mean, I compared wounds on the fallen rebels to wounds on those brought to the tent, and the marks his blades left were distinctive. The blades sort of burned around it, but instead of just closing the blood vessels, they melted and warped them, as if scrambling the interior of the wound with heat."

"That's gross," Gabriel said, miming a gagging motion, "but his fighting style is totally unique as well. I was above the battle this one time, going to tell the right flank to advance, and I saw this one guy trying to recreate it, or at least draw points from it, and he was just-" he moved one hand flat over the other, "mowed down. Stupid move on his part, huh?"

"Uriel got pissed off a bit after that," Michael recalled, "he was with me when he saw it, we were up a bit on a hill and he saw that, or perhaps it was a different occasion. In any case, he decided to show them a few moves of his own that he hadn't shown anyone before. You know, his thing with the fire."

"I thought he hated that?" Raphael looked at his brothers, back and forth and back again. "Am I missing something?"

"He had no problems showing others that they were being a bitch," Michael said, and then laughed, "remember when he stormed the Commons in a fuss because someone took a book he wanted to read before he got a chance to? And I was like, 'okay, go deal with your own problems' and he took that advice way to literally?"

"It worked, though," Gabriel said. Samantha was dying for context but knew she wouldn't get everything. That was alright. She continued listening.

"You're one to talk, Michael," he continued, "might I remind you of the sparring drills we showed the soldiers, the new ones we did? You wanted their training to include it but they weren't ready. And-" he raised his voice a bit to cover Michael's quiet protest- "and you put it in regardless? They must have hated you for a while."

"What were they going to do, whine about it?" He snorted, which startled both Samantha and the half-listening Eloriel. Not because it was a sudden noise. but because it was one rarely heard from Michael. "Not in front of me, they wouldn't."

"You terrified them, Michael. Their first day you were bringing out the divine light and fifteen eyes. With the menacing glare, you know, the one I've dubbed 'intimidating look number 18,' and then later changed to 'can make grown men piss themselves, number 4.'"

"You keep a list?" Michael sounded... Delighted, actually.

"Sure. There's, let me think... 'I will only speak to you if you make it obvious you don't want to talk to me, flight edition', 'I need  _x_ more coffees before I can think a single word', 'you're half a second away from a divine smiting, severely pissed version' followed by a 'sorry pal, dad told me to, what can y'do' version. There's 'how dare you even look at me, do you know who I am?' version, which is always great, and leads right into 'yeah, you'd better be sorry'- numbers 1to 9, often all in a row in varying order."

"You have put _way_ too much thought into this," Michael commented. Raphael set his book down fully.

"Ok, what about me?" He opened his arms as if about to accept a hug. "Come on, hit me." Then, probably having learned eons ago to never issue a challenge like that, "I mean, don't, but... You know what I mean."

Gabriel grinned and began rattling off terms again. "'I know more than you so suck it, number 2', 'hey can you pass me that book that I'm vaguely gesturing towards, sleep deprived edition', 'if you talk to me when I'm reading I will drop fifty pounds of books on you, I've done it before and will do it again gladly'."

Samantha felt the past weeks' exhaustion seeping into her bones. She wanted to listen to Gabriel, she really did, but his words sort of blended together into a string of sounds as she lost consciousness.

Five minutes later, noticing the slumbering human, Eloriel stood up and picked her up as though she weighed nothing. She had gotten rather good at carrying Samantha. She headed toward the stairs, "Goodnight, you guys."

"Goodnight Eloriel," they chorused, a mix of voices that, Eloriel marveled, were once so unfamiliar to her. She smiled to herself and carried Samantha up the stairs and into her bed, pulling the blankets over her.

"And goodnight to you," she murmured, standing there and looking down. She wondered for a moment if she looked as fragile when she was asleep, so small and delicate. But perhaps that was simply an angelic perspective, or at least, she sort of hoped it was.

Then she returned to her own room, her phone in her pocket buzzing with a notification. Wondering who was texting her, she took it out and peered down at the light shining back up at her, lines of pixels spelling a message. From her old roommate, Eloriel realized with a twinge of pleasant surprise. She quickly read it.

_Hey Ella, was wondering if you could come over tomorrow? I know you must still be getting things figured out with your new house but we haven't seen each other in a while. Maybe we can catch up on some of those shows as well? Let me know what you think._

Eloriel smiled, typing back a response. 

_Oh yeah, sure, that should work. I have some prior commitments that I have to see to in the evening but tomorrow morning before lunch should work. I'll be there._

She felt an emotion settle over her that she took a moment to recognize, as it seemed to be a foreign one. It wasn't quite contentment, not yet, it was... expecting, anticipation, of something wonderful to come.

Let the rebels dally all they needed, she thought, life, no matter how long it would last, was far more important. And after hearing more stories from the archangels, of their experiences, she knew that really, she had a lot more living to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This chapter took a bit longer to come out just due to life getting in the way of things. I've slowed the plot down a bit for this chapter, but expect things to pick back up again quickly! I figured a bit of fun and fluff never hurt anyone, especially not these characters (oh boy do they need it) (and deserve it) (I think I've grown too attached to my characters oh no)  
> Anyhow, updates will continue as always, and I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises on consistency.  
> That being said, thank you so much for sticking with me and enjoying the story! I always welcome feedback and comments- and kudos, you know, just... throwing that out there.  
> That's about all I have to put here. Have a wonderful day, night, etc!


	14. Rising and Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eloriel visits a friend, plans are made, worlds change.

Eloriel was nervous. She didn't often get nervous nowadays- unless Michael was really pissed off, in which case she kept to herself more than she normally would have, sure. But for the most part, she was a strong, independent angel who didn't take anyone's crap.

So why was she getting this strange fluttering in her stomach and heat in the back of her neck?

She reached up and knocked on the door of her old apartment, waiting only a few seconds before it opened.

"Ella!" Her roommate flung her arms around the angel, and they unconsciously fell around her waist as opposed to around her wings. "Come inside, we have so much to catch up on!"

"Woah, Jackie, slow down!" Eloriel tried to resist the tug of her roommate, needing a moment to see what had changed. The kitchen/living room had been changed, with a small bench along the wall holding several books and a not-yet-hung-up coat. The fish were still in their tank on the counter next to the bulletin board, but she could only see two of the beta fish instead of the usual three that swam around the plastic imitation of seaweed. The board, she noticed, still had pictures of the two of them, like the time they went to an amusement park together and the time they made it into a newspaper, featured in a picture of a fall fair and holding up pumpkins painted in reds, yellows, and golds. She turned, finally seeing Jackie, who was waiting for her attention. 

"I redecorated a bit," she said, and Eloriel only just now took in the walls, which had gone from a fading tan to a cheery robin-egg blue.

"It's really nice," she said, honestly. "Done anything with my room?"

Jackie clapped her hands a few times and once again nearly pulled Eloriel with her down the narrow hall. It reminded Eloriel a bit of the one at the archangels' house- her house as well, now- how it was narrow with doors leading to bedrooms on either side. She pushed open the door to what was once her room, half-expecting to see the light gray walls and white curtains, the small gold desk lamp, the fluffy rug beneath her.

She was in for a shock when she found an entirely new room. The curtains were there but covered in splatters of color, and there was no rug, only wooden boards beneath her. An easel stood covered in a canvas that was still blank, and a large table on the other side of the table held markers, pastels, and a lump of old clay.

"You made an art studio." Eloriel was still in shock for a moment, but her mouth began to grow into a grin. "Jackie, this is great!" She looked to a shelf before the window, where four paintings on canvas stood leaning against the wall. "Are you going to sell these?"

Jackie looked at the paintings with an undeniable look of pride. If anything about her was noteworthy, it was the pride that she took in what she loved. Eloriel had seen it many times through the centuries, in many different faces, but it was always present, without a doubt, in the face of an artist.

"I made an online shop last week," Jackie explained, "the one on the left here has been purchased, and the one in the middle was a commission that I just finished."

Eloriel studied the painting, the geometrical shapes bursting in color from their canvas, shining like they could take to the sky and become stars within it. Jackie was busy with something else and Eloriel looked behind her to her left, finding her old roommate shuffling through a drawer.

"I sometimes spend a while in here and end up ordering food so I can work more," she said, pulling a few pamphlets from underneath rattling batteries and paperclips. "Anyway, uh, these have restaurant menus, if there's anything you want to get?" She spread them out on top of the drawer and Eloriel took her time searching through them.

"I'll have this," she pointed to a turkey sandwich. She didn't have to eat at the moment but knew that refusing would be rather rude. Jackie tapped a number into her phone and brought it to her ear, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in anticipation as she waited for a response. She began speaking to the person on the other end of the line, taking a few pauses to run her finger down the menu and check something, and then hung up after a few minutes.

"Food is on the way!" She crowed, tucking the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. "So, how have you been?"

"I've been..." Eloriel realized that she had no way to put her feelings into words adequately. "Busy, moving into the new house. I have a few friends in the community, but even they live far away. It's very quiet-" She nearly snorted at that, but carried on with the lie, "and I think the fresh air is doing me good. Been getting more exercise, eating regularly..."

"I'm glad you're doing well," Jackie responded. "And if you ever need me there, just give me a call!"

"I'll make a note of it."

"So, what are you going tonight? You said over text that you would have to go after lunch."

Eloriel said the first thing that made sense to say, "I'm having a get together with some old friends from school, eating together, that sort of thing, you know?"

"Totally," Jackie said, nodding. She made her way out of the studio and into the living room again. "Want anything to drink?"

"Water is fine," Eloriel responded. While Jackie was filling a glass, she checked her phone.

_'everything going alright?'_

It had been sent five minutes ago by Gabriel.

 _'yes'_ she texted back,  _'getting lunch, discussing art, dodging difficult questions'_

_'ok, I'll tell Michael to quick worrying'_

Eloriel silently laughed to herself at the thought of Michael panicking over her going to lunch with a friend. She smiled graciously at Jackie when she was handed a cup of water.

"Thanks, Jackie. Hey, have you seen this?" She brought up a video that she had seen that morning. It was a trailer for a new movie and Jackie watched with wide eyes. She squealed at the end, jumping up and down on the balls of the feet.

"Oh my god, this is going to be amazing!" She gushed, and Eloriel pointed to the couch. 

"We should totally rewatch the last one, you know, to be up to date."

Jackie's eyebrows raised, and she barely hesitated to hurl herself onto the green velvety pillows that adorned the couch. "Totally. Ella, you're a genius." She grabbed the remote, navigated her way to Netflix, and put on the movie.

 

They only stopped to get their food and ate as they watched. Eloriel had a box of tissues in front of them and Jackie certainly needed it, watching an event that had her bawling the first time around.

"He deserved better than that," she sniffed, and Eloriel leaned against her side comfortingly. Her wings were squished behind her, but when she focused on the movie she was able to block the discomfort out. "And right in front of his only father figure as well, damn it!"

"Agreed," Eloriel said, watching until the credits rolled and the after-credit scene played through. "Hey, Jackie, I've got to get going. It was wonderful to see you."

Jackie stood from the couch and embraced Eloriel again, "alright, but you have  _got_ to visit more often!" She looked out the window, "hey, how will you get home? You didn't drive."

"I'm going to walk into town and get a cab," Eloriel said quickly, "that's how I got here." She made a final farewell to Jackie and left the apartment, making sure she had her phone and windbreaker. Once she was out of sight, she ducked into an alley behind a dumpster and took it off, rolling it into the pocket like it was designed to do and tying it around her waist. Spreading her wings, she jumped high enough to clear the tops of the buildings and took flight, enjoying an easy trip. The winds were in her favor, guiding her home over the streets and shops below. When she was at the old church that stood at the end of the road, she banked left and sailed straight over the woods there, right over hiking paths and eventually past the city-owned land that was fenced off from public use. When a second road came into sight, she corrected her course a few degrees to the right and eventually saw the chimney of the house over the trees. Her wings pulled back as she dived, the wind whistling in her ears as she swooped down past the forest and into the front yard, flaring out her wings to slow down and beating them several times to safely land.

"I'm back," she announced, letting the door swing closed behind her as she untied the windbreaker from her waist. She opened the doors to the closet in the hallway and hung it up, proceeding to the living room.

Raphael was sitting on the table, his wings stretched out and encompassing a majority of the living room. Gabriel sat behind him on a pulled up stool, looking at them with a mildly concerned expression. He turned around, "Hey, Eloriel."

Eloriel took in the scene, and then grinned, "you haven't preened your feathers in a while, have you?" She asked, her tone conveying her amusement. Raphael shook his head and the motion made his wings sway on the table they were propped on, nearly knocking over a glass of fallen feathers.

"The problem with having  _3 sets of them_ ," he stressed, "is that it's very difficult to do it yourself."

"I'm helping him," Gabriel offered as an explanation as if that wasn't obvious from the first glance.

"Where's Michael?" She looked around, hearing nothing except for the three of them. 

"He went for a flight," Gabriel said, a far more helpful explanation than his last.

Eloriel leaned over Gabriel's shoulder and looked at the wings. Raphael's feathers were deep green, reminding her of the Mayan rainforest that had flourished 4,000 years previously, serving as one of her many homes. Gabriel's fingers were slightly shiny with the oils secreted by glands on the body, spreading them over each individual feather. It occurred to Eloriel that with so many feathers, this was probably a task they gladly procrastinated on.

"And Samantha?"

"Out shopping." Raphael squirmed a small bit in discomfort, "Hey, Gabe, wrong way."

Gabriel paused, his eyes carefully looking over the feather he held in relation to those around it and gave it a small twist into a different position. Raphael's body relaxed instantly with the relief that came.

"How long does this-"

"A while," Raphael cut off Eloriel, "normally in heaven we would take turns helping each other but... It's not like we had to do it as often. Something about Earth is different, makes the wings wear a bit faster."

"Everything about Earth is different," Gabriel joked. "Hey, how was your visit with your roommate?"

"She's turned my room into an art studio. Jackie's dead set on being an artist, she's set up an online shop and everything."

"Sounds... Complicated." Raphael laughed, causing Gabriel's hands to slip down the feathers. He furrowed his brows, glaring at the back of Raphael's head. 

"So, don't we have some kind of planned meeting?" She asked, looking at the two.

"We have to wait for Michael to return," Raphael said. "And Samantha, I suppose."

"How did she even go to get groceries?" Eloriel questioned, and Raphael gave a small shrug.

"I flew her to her old house where her sister lives and she got her car from there."

"Does she know how to drive back here?"

"She should." Gabriel straightened out a few more feathers, his fingers combing oils through each one. He was reaching over the bottom-most wings, trying to cover the middle ones. Raphael's head was hunched and loose, content to sit there. The crunch of gravel came from the driveway and he looked up. Gabriel grinned, "there she is."

Samantha came in the same way Eloriel had and entered the room to have a different reaction.

"Oh," she said, all other words lost in her throat. "Is this a normal thing?"

"Yes," Eloriel said quickly. "We're just waiting for Michael to return and then we'll start, I think." She looked at the angels, "you may want to move. Or... Continue that later."

"Right," Gabriel said, fixing a few more feathers and then getting a cloth to wipe his fingers on. Raphael slid off the table and ruffled his wings several times, a smile creeping slowly onto his face. He snapped them inwards and they all folded inward tightly. The top set, closest to his shoulders, was the largest, and each wing overlapped the middle set which was the smallest bit shorter. They, in turn, covered most of the third set, which hung down to his thighs but was much larger when outstretched. The collapsing effect the wings had was remarkable, as they seemed to decrease in size simply by shifting in position.

There was no sound outside, no warning, nothing to indicate Michael's presence until the door opened suddenly and he made his way in. The change in the room was immediate. Gabriel and Raphael stood up, Eloriel smiled and took a step back to allow more room. Samantha was less nervous for a meeting like this than she was before, but it was all too easy to forget that she was dealing with angels.

"Let's get started," Michael said, taking a seat. His brothers quickly dragged the furniture into ideal places and they all took their spots.

"So, this is not a formal meeting by any means, although we should have one soon, regardless, I intend to proceed in an organized method. To begin, I have a list of topics we have to cover." Michael held a piece of paper that he had taken from his pocket, unfolding it and spreading it over one leg to smooth it out.

"The first is a question of how we should proceed in dealings with Lucifer. I know that he has nothing to do with this threat, but I'm concerned that he'll take advantage of it. If he joins the battle, our odds go down. And the odds of us surviving this ordeal are already low." His eyes flicker to Samantha. He realized that she doesn't yet know of their chance of survival- of how it's below 50%- but he continues anyway. "I think we need to be ready to pull Uriel from Heaven at a moments notice. Agreed?"

The angels nodded, Samantha as well.

"Excellent. Next is the matter of human defense. Eloriel?"

Eloriel nodded, "I went out early this morning and found 52 angels in the surrounding few states, as well as 17 others here in New York. All are ready to defend when the time arrives."

"Great. And how are you doing with your spear?"

"Want to see?" Eloriel summoned her spear in her hand and began spinning so fast Samantha's eyes nearly crossed at the effort it took to focus on her. She made several thrusts and hits, then stopped with the tip poised downwards, as if about to strike at a fallen opponent.

Michael only nodded, "keep practicing. You can duel Gabriel later, perhaps." The praise seemed to please Eloriel and with a motion that Samantha nearly missed, the spear vanished.

"Are we going to talk about what we do when the actual battle comes around?" Raphael asked, "I mean, I don't want to think about it any more than you guys, but how will we get everyone assembled in one area at a moment's notice? And what about Samantha?" One of his wings gestured towards her, "she can't fly... Or fight, for that matter. No offense, Samantha."

"None taken," she said quietly. "But if I can't help fight, what can I do?"

Michael, who had been reading over his list, paused. His eyes ceased to move back and forth and he slowly looked up at Samantha. He wanted to tell her that she had no part in this war, that she'd die within minutes on the battlefield. But that look she had, so set on helping... He gave a reluctant sigh in acknowledgment of her question and strung together the words carefully before speaking.

"What can you do?" He watched her grow flustered with a lack of words and rephrased his question. "What have you studied in life?"

"Oh!" Samantha nodded, "like in school, I see. Well, I was always a poor student, to begin with, but I applied myself as I got into college and eventually got the work ethic I needed to get into nursing school, although I barely made it. It was easier once I was doing what I wanted to do. See, I was into literature until I read a book about nurses in the world wars, and my mother was a surgeon and my dad used to work as a paramedic so I suppose interest in the medical field runs in the family."

"So you can care for people!" Raphael looked at Michael, delighted. "She could help me in the medical tent, then!" His eyes widened with hope, desperately wanting his brother's approval on the subject.

"Could she handle seeing all of that?" Michael looked quizzical, one eyebrow slightly above the other. "especially when it comes to wings, I mean... She's not as familiar with them."

"She's not replacing me, Michael, she's helping me. I'll let her assist on the more simple tasks. I could also use someone to manage stock. Remember when we ran out of bandages?"

"Replacing them with cloth from dead bodies was not a good idea," Gabriel piped up, "I told you that, remember."

Raphael turned his head to face him. "Okay first of all, what else was I to use? And secondly, it didn't become infected. The pus means it's healing, Gabriel."

"The pus means it's healing," Gabriel mocked in a quieter, higher-pitched voice.

"Argue later, you two. We'll remember to get more this time." Michael's voice thundered above theirs and stopped the argument.

It struck Samantha and Eloriel then that this was going to be a reality very soon. A war. Eloriel was a bit excited to prove herself, but her stomach kept churning in a terror that she had never really felt before. Samantha, well, Samantha was just trying to focus on her breathing so she could avoid having a panic attack. It hadn't happened often, despite being around actually  _angels_ , mainly just the time she first met them and the time she found out that Raphael tried to wipe her memory.

She forgave him for that now, of course. A part of her wished that he had been able to. Then she wouldn't be in a living room surrounded by heavenly beings discussing battle plans as routinely as one would discuss what to have for dinner.

But of course, she had a topic of her own to introduce to the discussion. Something that had come up through a phone call made that morning when Eloriel was gone and the archangels were fighting over who would shower first.

"Could I say something?" Her eyes were on her hands folded in her lap, but the question was directed to Michael.

"Of course," he answered smoothly, giving her a nod. Samantha couldn't help but smile when she delivered her news.

"You know of my sister Amy, right?" Her leg bounced a little against the floor, almost impatient.

"The one in law school, right," Raphael recalled.

"Yes, well, she's pregnant." Samantha was beaming, and the angels around her erupted into joyous exclamations and questions.

"When did you find out?" "What gender?" "Is it healthy?" "Who's the father?"

She threw up her hands as if able to physically push back the questions. A burst of pride swelled in her chest. It wasn't often she could get them excited like this. "Okay, wow, um... I found out this morning, they don't know the gender yet but they're hoping for a boy, they're going to the doctor today to see how it is, and the father is her fiancé of three years, Brent." She took a breath, "you all are rather excited."

"Babies are fascinating," Raphael said, at the same time that Gabriel said "Cause it's a  _baby_ , duh," and Michael said, "it's an occasion to celebrate!"

Samantha watched them all look at each other in annoyance, then confusion, then amusement. She cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should go back to making plans, I guess."

The angels exchanged a look and then began conversing again, reminded of the topic at hand.

"You, of course, are aware of the element of surprise," Michael said to her, "and it's importance. If we can set up an ambush for the rebel forces in heaven ahead of time, they will be overwhelmed when they attempt an attack and will suffer a rather serious defeat."

"Easier said than done," Eloriel countered, gathering the confidence to contradict Michael. "They'll be expecting resistance and setting up an ambush requires them to make it into Heaven. I can't see how it would be done by meeting them at the gates without forcing the Host into a choke point." She leaned back, nearly biting her lip. Gabriel gave her an impressed glance, but he couldn't hold it for long. His attention shifted back to Michael, who was thinking over Eloriel's words.

"If we plan an aerial attack, they could slip through under us in what would seem like a mistake on our part. But if the remainder of our forces is surrounding the entrance on our side, then we can trap the incoming rebels and attacks from the sides and air. They can't leave without forming a choke of their own."

"Like a lobster trap." Samantha did her best to visualize it. She didn't know what the gates of heaven really were- in her mind, they looked rather like large, physically golden gates.

"Sure," said Michael, in a tone so obviously of faked confidence that Samantha could have sworn he had no idea what a lobster trap looked like.

 _He probably doesn't,_ she thought.

"So, Raphael, we need you to start training Samantha in terms of wings." Michael continued speaking, "show her the feathers, the muscles-"

"How can I show her the muscles?" 

"I mean  _pictures_ of muscles, Raphael. Use that internet thing."

Raphael stood, his eyes rolling a small bit when his back was turned to Michael.

"I saw that," Michael said, and Samantha couldn't help but laugh. Raphael grabbed something from the table and approached Samantha, then led her upstairs to the office space and spread out some of the boxes on his desk. He set down what he had been carrying- A glass of feathers- and grabbed the contents from it, spreading them over the desk. He quickly sorted them according to size, selected the largest, and handed it to Samantha.

She nearly dropped it. He was putting an angel feather- his own feather- into her hands! Taking a few deep breaths to compose herself, she turned it over and watched it catch the light, shimmering in shades of green. It was so light she didn't even really feel it. It took an effort just to take her eyes off it and when she did, she found bunches more right in front of her. Raphael was patiently holding out his largest wing, waiting.

"Raphael, what-"

"Put your hands here," he instructed, motioning to the upper ridge. He guided her hands there and she dropped them onto the wing, moving them back and forth gently as she felt the structure. She could feel the muscles underneath, where they connected and stretched. Raphael extended and retracted the tip of his wing several times so she could feel it moving.

"The joint is here," Samantha noticed, her hands pressing gently against the feathers, "and this is..." she frowned and closed her eyes as if that would help her. Her fingers squeezed and prodded a bit more in a different area. "The muscle that pulls it in. This one up here pushes out and then..." She watched as the wing extended to full length, far past the edge of the desk in front of her. "So what does the one below do?"

Raphael answered by tensing a muscle and every feather in his wing suddenly became stiff and rigid. "It allows me to wash the wings in water without the feathers becoming to water-heavy. Also helps when flying in the rain." He craned his arm back and Samantha allowed her hand to be brought to the joint near the shoulder.

"How does this work?" She ducked under his wing and saw the other smaller ones that were closer to his back. "Three sets meeting at one joint?"

"Separate joints, actually. And I think there's some sort of celestial magic at play because the area around my shoulders really ought to be bigger."

Samantha felt the strangest thing she ever had. Her eyes perceived her fingers on his skin, she saw fingers on fabric, and also where it met the edge of the wings... Her head started to pound and she pulled her hands away. It felt like she had been touching something much bigger, as well.

"Samantha?" Raphael tucked his wings in and crouched down, "is everything okay?"

"How does it go through your clothing?" She asked, and Raphael frowned.

"I haven't given it much thought. I bet Michael knows. I just put on clothing normally, it seems like the wings are ignored by it."

"Of course," Samantha muttered. She took a step back to better see the whole wing at once, her head sending a few pulses of pain through her that could well be taken as frustration. "I'm going to need some Tylenol." 

"I don't think we have any," Raphael said slowly. 

"Right, you guys don't get headaches. Don't worry about it." Samantha waved her hand dismissively, "I got some at the store." 

She went back downstairs and found the other four angels arguing- which didn't surprise her much. What did surprise her was that Gabriel and Eloriel were arguing, and in her time with the angels, she hadn't seen that even once.

"I want to help!" Eloriel was saying. Her hands were clenched by her sides and her hair wild, "I can't just do nothing!"

"You don't know how to fight!" Gabriel countered, his voice taking a desperate strain. "You were in heaven for so little time-"

"A thousand years is plenty of time! I remember my training!" Eloriel seemed on the edge of a breakdown, but whether it was more of a tantrum or a meltdown couldn't be told, not by anyone.

"A thousand years is nothing! Eloriel, there are civilizations that last longer than that, far longer. You are not ready to fight in battle."

"What choice do we have?" She whirled to face Michael, who seemed perfectly okay with staying separate from the argument. He looked nearly bewildered as she addressed him. She repeated herself, louder, "What choice do we have?"

Eloriel could feel herself slipping, her emotions getting out of control. She held on to them tightly, trying to get a hold of herself. Gabriel was looking at her with eyes big enough to swallow her whole and it took her just a moment of eye contact to realize that he really was right, that she really hadn't lived  _that_ long, by any means- But she shoved it down, unable to relent her side of the argument.

"I have to do  _something_ ," she stressed, "because if I don't, who will I be? What good is an angel of defense who can't-" Eloriel spluttered as she searched for the word, " _defend?_ _"_  

"I told you, you're not ready-" Eloriel cut off Michael's words with a glare.

"Everyone keeps saying that!" She groaned, far to fed up with them to handle herself properly, and she expelled her frustration in a sudden scream. She felt the very moment she changed, her form pulsing light and a hole, in the center of her collarbones, opened up to reveal a stunning silver eye that twitched rapidly as it adjusted. She could shift her focus to it, and her field of vision expanded until she could see Samantha, who had one hand in the bag of groceries with a stunned expression, and the curtains of the kitchen window moving in the wave of energy she had released.

"And this is why," Michael finished. Eloriel narrowed all three of her eyes. "You clearly cannot control yourself." He reached out a hand and Eloriel couldn't help but take a step back as she felt his energy touch hers, the lightest of brushes, the feeling of a gold flake landing lightly on her skin.

Assuming said gold flake was only a small portion of ornate designs on a giant angelic sword. She could tell he was holding back all but a bit of his self.

_How does he do it?_

She gritted her teeth and gathered herself back into her more human form, feeling like she was trying to climb up a nearly vertical surface. The light rushed back into her as if filling an empty river, and her skin smoothed over the eye, which closed and seemed to shrink into itself.

"I'm sorry." She said, raising her head to look first Michael in the eye, then Gabriel. "You... You're right." She hated to admit it. But she couldn't throw a fit forever. And besides, Michael was right, although it pained her to accept. "But, what can I do?"

"You can help Samantha handle Heaven," Michael instructed. The task seemed more like babysitting to Eloriel. She opened her mouth to protest and saw the look Michael gave her. Again, she felt that gold flake, pressing a bit more demanding.

She closed her mouth. "Yes, Michael." Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps Samantha was stronger than she looked and could handle it-

No. As much as Eloriel loved the woman and her persistent spirit, she was all too aware of her fragility. Humans weren't made to be in heaven, not before their time in a physical, human state. Samantha would do her best, possibly for a long time, but sooner or later something would go wrong, she just knew it.

"Are you all settled down here?" Raphael asked, entering the room. Michael looked around at the group and nodded, seeming to be happy with whatever he found in such a quick glance.

"Pack your things," he said, "we're leaving at midnight." 

* * *

 

"Why  _midnight?"_ Samantha asked over dinner. Michael set down his fork and tried to explain.

"Midnight is when one day changed into the next. It provides a perfect time for transitions, and aids in the opening of a gateway into heaven-"

"An actual  _gate,_ like the 'pearly gates', or..." Samantha watched him carefully, but Michael didn't show much in terms of expression. Or any notice that she had spoken, save for a response.

"No. You'll see."

"I'm... Asking too many questions," Samantha realized. "Right. Just nervous, I suppose."

Eloriel reached a hand and put it on Samantha's. "You'll be alright," she said. "Heaven is a beautiful place. Just don't be alarmed by the angels, I'm sure many of them will have questions."

"They may say some things that sound rude, but they don't mean to be mean," Gabriel added, "I've insulted people without meaning to before, it happens to the best of us."

"Nah, just to you," Raphael joked, then bit his lip and looked down as if joking as somehow taboo. His nerves were getting the best of him as well.

Michael was nervous, but he wasn't about to admit it or say he wasn't. He kept to himself, eating at a steady pace, leaning forward over the pasta with alfredo sauce and trying not to make a mess. He was the first to finish, and everyone cleaned their plates rather quickly, aside from Eloriel and Raphael, who were both too nervous to really finish. It concerned Michael- after the outburst earlier, Eloriel needed her strength. She'd feel better in heaven, at least.

"Make sure you have what you need," he instructed his brothers. And Eloriel, of course. After all these years with his family it was easy to forget that there was another angel in their midsts, and a mortal as well.

"That's the seventeenth time you've reminded us," Gabriel said. He opened his hand and a small gold whistle appeared.

"And that's the seventeenth form you've shown me your horn in."

"Would you prefer the kazoo? Harmonica, perhaps?"

"Wait," Eloriel sounded genuinely intrigued, "can you do only wind instruments?"

Michael blinked an in the next instant, Gabriel had a ukelele strung around his neck and in his hands. "The sound doesn't carry quite as well, I'm afraid," he said, switching it back to a clarinet.

"That is far too big for practical travel," Michael pointed out, and Gabriel huffed before holding a whistle once more.

"And you, Raphael?"

"All my supplies are up there," he said, "I'll get it once we arrive."

"And you're not missing anything, are you?" Asked Gabriel.

"How can I lose something I can summon instantaneously?" Michael raised his hand and his sword appeared.

It had been a long time since his hand curled around that hilt. The deep blue leather matched his grip perfectly and the sword itself seemed to hum with satisfaction. The blade, long and shining and silver, was tickled by the blue flames that flickered up and down it. Samantha jumped back in surprise, and to avoid the heat it gave off. Not heat, Michael knew, but divine energy. He only had to will it for the sword to vanish, the room now void of a presence that was only noticeable once it was gone.

"Eloriel?"

She summoned her spear, which seemed paltry in comparison to an archangel's weapon. "I'm ready," she said, a waver in her voice.

Samantha said nothing.

The hours passed slower than anything Michael could remember, and he had seen ice ages come and go, an entire species evolve from a single cellular blob. His heart began to beat faster, but it was only part of his physical form. It was just a sign of his anticipation. And his fear. He really, really was dreading a war.

But he had to, and he knew it.  _What would Father think if we failed now?_

His eyes followed the hands on the clock as he sat still, patient. At five minutes to midnight, they walked into the old parking lot where Uriel had left. Michael spread his wings, his gaze turned upwards, facing east. 

 _Let us rise, Father,_ he thought,  _rise into the Kingdom_. And with the thought, he shouted as loud as his physical lungs would let him, his voice aided with angelic power-

" **TORZU RAASY AH CLONDOH** **!** "

 

The same white helix of light that had come before came now, larger and wider than before. Michael glanced behind him at them all, his family and those he now called his friends.

"Let's go," he said, his final words spoken on earth a decisive command as opposed to a half-hearted utterance. With confidence bubbling inside him, readiness for what lay ahead pushing back his fear, he stepped into the light.

And one by one, they followed him. 

* * *

 

 _I'm home_.

Michael stepped from a burst of light, ready to find his home just as he had left.

He looked around, and for a moment, nothing seemed real.

He didn't want it to be real.

_No..._

What once stood as a tower to monitor the gates now lay in ruins of marble and gold. A scream echoed through what was once a field of green, now a waste of rubble. He felt the others join him, and he felt their dismay as clearly as he felt the terror of heaven, echoing through him at that moment, and with utmost certainty, he knew exactly what had happened.

The rebels had arrived far earlier than they thought.

_Heaven is falling?_

Michael's mind snapped into the form it had been in, thousands and thousands of years ago. He stood straighter, a few sparks of light circling his head, and finally blaring into two halos that dipped into each other and spun with what seemed nearly like electricity. Raphael and Gabriel, having had also assessed the situation, faced him with perfect posture, soldiers ready for orders.

"Find the front of the battle," Michael directed. He shifted his gaze. "Eloriel, take Samantha. Follow Raphael to the medical tent." He noticed that Samantha was unconscious. She likely passed out in the moment of passing into heaven. Regardless, she was in Raphael's care now, so he dismissed the worry.

_And I wasn't here..._

With his sword in his hand, he took flight, the mixed feelings of terror and grief and bitter hatred fighting against the needs he felt, to protect his home and his people. He could hear the cries from below him changed as he neared the closest source of combat. 

Michael is here, they cried. He's arrived, they are here, God's first children are here.

_Is it too late now?_

Michael looked around, his eyes only seeking one being and feeling nothing for a moment but overwhelming relief when he saw a twirl of red wings. He angled downwards and tore through the air. Everything else became a blur around him. His sword raised, he landed to the left of his brother.

_Uriel, thank heaven..._

"Need some help?" He asked, his voice hoarse as if he had gone days without water.

Uriel yanked the blade in his left hand from a fallen corpse, his eyes blinking rapidly as he took in Michael. His armor once polished gold, was scratched and bloodied.

"Michael," he said, voice breaking. Then, in the middle of battle, he flung himself around his brother, his wings closing over Michael's. "It's been months-"

"I would have come sooner," Michael said, cursing himself for overlooking the difference in time between earth and heaven. It had used to run slower than earth until his father took a break from things and left a few aspects of heaven askew. "I'm sorry, I... What happened?"

"The rebels came," Uriel answered, paused and throwing a knife over Michael's shoulder. It buried itself into the elbow of an approaching angel and then flew back to Uriel, who caught it deftly in his hand. "A few months ago, when we were doing drills."

Michael strained to hear his brother over the sounds of death.

"Michael," Uriel's face looked heartbroken, "Michael, it's begun. The war, it's begun, and we are not prepared."

_Father help us..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to get out- my apologies. But hey, the war has finally begun! Here's a taste of what to expect in the upcoming chapter(s):  
> \- More of Samantha and Gabriel's relationship  
> \- Randiah, Amiel, Serendael, and Jasiel. Remember them? They were mentioned in chapter 11 briefly, but expect to see them more.  
> \- Heavenly shenanigans and one very confused Samantha  
> \- Speaking of Samantha, she'll be getting more to her character, just hang tight. Currently, she is too easily summed up as the confused oddball of the group. I plan to change that!
> 
> Thanks for reading Heaven on Earth, please leave a kudos if you enjoy! (it helps to keep me motivated ^-^)


	15. The Battle Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first battle against the rebels begins to unfold, new angels are met, a plan is made.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter has graphic descriptions of gore! This includes impaled weapons, loss of eyes, open wounds, severing of limbs, descriptions of pain and war in general.

Samantha threw up into the bucket again.

Raphael couldn't really smell it anymore, not when the smell of burnt flesh was filling the tent. "Hey Samantha, I need the knife by the clothing rack over there. The short thin one. Don't touch the blade."

Samantha picked it up by the metal handle and passed it into his open hand.

"Thanks," he said, using a razor-sharp edge to deftly slice the clothing of the angel on the table before him. His right hand was currently held over the wound and glowing green, small hums of energy pulsating through the large tent. He narrowed his eyes as he navigated a pair of large tweezers into the wound.

"What happened?" Asked Samantha, wrinkling her nose as she looked on beside him.

"A spear with barbs. One of them splintered off inside the wound."

"You can't..." She gestured to the magic around his hand.

"That would heal it around the metal." Raphael extracted the shard of what looked like glass to Samantha and dropped it into the bucket next to him with a metallic clang. "How is that one doing?" He motioned with the tweezers to the other side of the tent.

"She's doing better, I think." Samantha sounded rather unsure. "The sweating has stopped and the bleeding has slowed... Raphael, how is she still alive?" She looked down in pale horror at the bloodied bandages wrapped around a stump that was once the angel's leg.

"Angels are resilient," Raphael said. "And besides, the weapon that did that was thankfully not one of the more advanced ones." He paused in his work to point to a sword that was hanging from a wooden wall. The blade was bronze and twisting, with ripples in the metal that looked like waves. "That one, for example, will spread poison through the body from the point of impact."

Samantha seemed to have no reply to that. She took her seat on the stool by the one-legged angel again, holding a cool cloth to her forehead and running water over her wings, which were once a spring green but now stained brown with blood.

Raphael knew she was having a hard time adjusting to the medical tent. It had only been a day but it hadn't gotten any easier. It wasn't a soothing place to be in by any means- in fact, it was usually crowded despite its size.

The medical tent was a large red tent at the base of a hill, the grass around it now brown and dead. It stood wide and tall, stretching far back enough to accommodate at least 200 angels at any given time, and sometimes it would shrink and expand as needed, but only sometimes and it didn't always cooperate. Several other medical angels, marked by the bright green armbands they wore, rushed through the tent from bed to bed. Samantha got to sleep in one after she arrived in heaven and was unconscious for a while- they were wide to fit spread out wings and had tight fitting sheets and creaking wood frames. They formed a train down the sides of the tent, separated by propped up wooden walls that often had shelves of bandages and ointment. Above them in the tent, hanging from a single wooden beam that ran along the length, were lanterns that glowed a rich gold, small lights bouncing around inside of them like formless fireflies. Raphael could remember chasing them to catch with his brothers, all those eons ago. Humans had a similar game, he knew, but earthly fireflies paled to the glow of pure heavenly light. 

A mumbling distracted him and he looked back at the angel before him. He took their arm and ran a finger over their wrist, a name on the skin glowing gold in response.

_Sarak._

An angel-born soldier, he mused. A name like Sarakiel, with the distinct ending, would imply that he was created from heavenly energy, like most angels who came into being every now in then, their 'births' sporadical. Some angels had forms that allowed them to birth angels in a more human manner, and such angels had a different style of name. Like this one.

 _Well, Sarak,_ he mused,  _let's hope you make it out alive or else I'll have two more angels pissed off at me_.

He picked him up and moved him to an empty bed, that had just been vacated by an angel who was deemed well enough to return to the battlefield. Laying him down, he arranged the wings in a comfortable position and elevated his head. A new bloodstain blossomed onto the white cloth. The beds would be red in just a weeks time, Raphael reckoned.

"Assistance! Please, I need... Assistance..."

Raphael turned back to the entrance of the tent and spied an angel with maroon wings leaning heavily against their spear. A different spear was lodged clean through their shoulder, still protruding from the back, and small black tendrils of color were seeping through the skin going up their neck. Raphael swore to himself and rushed towards her. It was going to be a long day.

And from behind him, he could hear Samantha retching once more. 

* * *

 

Less than 50%.

Not having the actual number is what hounded Gabriel more than anything. He was good with numbers. He could tell whoever asked at that very second that there were 40,526- wait, 40,504- 40,426- well, many, many angels fighting below him. He could also tell them that he had flown five miles- or roughly 8 kilometers- of ground in the last minute. He slowed quickly, his fingers grabbing the horn at his belt. He didn't need to know the chance of survival. He just had to make it through this day of fighting, and then the next, and the next until this damned war was won.

He raised it to his lips and sucked in a breath larger than human lungs could ever, then followed that with a blast that turned the eye of every leader upwards. The middle wing on his right side folded in and extended twice, then swung forward. Similarly, the highest wing on his left side motioned frontward. The message was clear to those who knew it: The mass of fighters on the right flank of the army would stretch and advance, and the left side would push forward. Michael had told Gabriel to try and corral their enemies towards the base of the Peaks, a mountain range that adolescent angels would fly over to strengthen their wings. The hope was that with many of their army unable to fly, this would allow the Host a position to attack from above. 

A spear whistled past Gabriel and he locked his wings in place, plummeting a few meters to dodge it. Working fast, he spread the message across the army and landed, at last, a half-hour later, by Michael's side.

Michael was pacing back in forth on a balcony that jutted from a half-collapsed ruin. Gabriel was almost afraid to land, but he set down on the stone regardless. 

"What are you thinking?"

"That I did a pretty poor job at keeping this place safe while we were gone," Michael said. "The rebels had twenty thousand angels already in heaven. They somehow had communication back and forth from Heaven and Earth-"

"That's not possible," Gabriel interjected, despite the information Michael had just given him.

"Well, apparently it is,  _Gabriel_. Uriel told me that the attack came from within to start with and that the gates were compromised shortly after. Setting aside the question of how rebels got around the communication regulations, how is everything going? Did you give the order to advance?"

"I did," Gabriel reassured him. He took a few steps forward on the hopefully-somewhat-stable balcony and looked over the railing, which wobbled when he leaned against it. He drew back slightly, his eyes scanning the crowd. Portions of the field, the dead still lying where they fell, were still and quiet, but just before the horizon, a swarming mass of beings fought. He could hear it from where he was even now, the screams and the clashing of metal. He turned his head and saw just how Michael was faring. It wasn't hard- the archangel's eyes were tense, and his shoulder held too high for comfort. 

"Could be worse," he said, trying to elicit a reaction. Michael scowled at him, and Gabriel took a step back, leaning dangerously against the railing. Michael was different in Heaven, more tightly-wound and hot-tempered.

 _Intimidating look, number 17_ , the back of Gabriel's mine still had the nerve to whisper. 

"Yeah, it  _could be worse_ , Gabriel. Thanks, I didn't think of that!" Michael hesitated for a moment following the blatant sarcasm, then looked over the rail again as if his glare alone could bring the enemy to their knees. "Find what wounded are left after the Host advances and bring those that can be saved to Raphael."

"On it," Gabriel said immediately. He jumped into the sky, his wings out, and twisted his head downwards when he heard a small, very undignified screech. The balcony had collapsed under Michael, who was hovering below him with stone powder dusting his head. Gabriel laughed, and his wings beat in a flurry to leave when Michael looked up. The situation was overall funny, and about as much humor as Gabriel could find in heaven recently. Knowing his luck, that one incident likely somehow used the amusement of the next month all up in one go. He snapped his wings open and caught a breeze from behind, carrying him high over the battle. A tangle of limbs and wings spread before him, the worlds most unappetizing picnic. Disgusting. He squinted ahead of him and found the back end of the army, landing in the space between a few bodies and picking his way through them.

Most were dead. Gabriel took note of how they died, cataloging the information as he did with nearly everything. A stab wound to the gut. A knife to the throat. A sword lodged in the wing- oh, and followed by obvious decapitation. Gabriel frowned with distaste as his foot squelched in grass still drowned in the blood of red, gold, and silver alike. Some angels, upon death, didn't bleed, rather, they turned semi-transparent, bringing the term 'shell of their former self' to a new literal level. Some, it seemed, had actually exploded, or melted, or otherwise self-destructed when life left their body. But those that bled did so frequently, and quite a heavy bit. 

An agonized groan caught Gabriel's attention. He searched the ground with concern, listening intently until he was able to pinpoint the location and hurry fast as he could to the angel.

The first thing he saw was an arm split down the middle, flesh peeling away to the bone underneath, which was etched with strange symbols and designs. He tore his eyes from the wound and met eyes of the solder- but he had no eyes, only empty sockets, red and raw.

"Hello?" The voice was young, desperate, terrified. It burst from the angel's throat with a gasp as if finally obtaining a freedom unparalleled, a relief that brought only pain as the vocal cords whined and protested. Gabriel grabbed the pink wing and tilted it towards him, the angel struggling to pull away from his grasp. He lifted a few feathers, only to find large swathes missing, the area that would have been the root of them seemingly burnt away by a celestial flame.

So it was a rebel, then. The corners of Gabriel's mouth twitched down, his jaw setting still as he pushed away any emotion he felt at not providing aid. He straightened, giving the rebel another look.

"How old are you?" He questioned, his wings folding. The angel on the ground wheezed, his head pivoting in an attempt to locate the source of the voice.

"S-seventy," came the reply, without a trace of courage or dignity. "Please, please, help me..."

"What's your name?" Gabriel asked, indifferent to the pleas.

"Unskai," coughed the angel. His good arm reached up weakly, falling back down after quickly losing the energy needed for such an effort. "Who are you?"

"My name is Gabriel." He crouched down, taking Unskai's chin in his hands and tilted it up to look at the sockets of his eyes. "What happened?"

"Light," was all that Unskai could say. Blinded to the point his eyes... Melted? Looking around, Gabriel saw similar fates, bodies twisted and warped as if they had been plastic figurines.

"A shame," Gabriel said again, straightening, "to die when one is so young." He opened his wings and was about to fly.

"Help, you, you won't, help me...?" Unskai was looking several feet to Gabriel's left. Gabriel said nothing. He jumped upwards, and took flight once again, leaving the dying angel behind him. 

\-- 

The next time he landed, he had a wounded angel in his arms, an angel of Heaven. He had been flying just below a skirmish when a shower of red droplets graced his armor, followed by a shadow, and Gabriel had enough time to flip onto his back before a body followed. He caught her in his arms, rolling back again, and speeding away from the fight, in the direction of the medical tent. He made his way through the front flap before stopping fully from the stench alone.

"Good heavens, it smells like someone-" He cut his sentence short and grew a bit flustered, looking rapidly for a change of topic. His eyes found a familiar face and he carried the angel to Raphael.

"Here you go," he said, holding her out as if he was giving a slice of cake to Raphael. Ha, he only wished. Raphael shook his head, one hand held over a bandaged head.

"Can't right now, give her to someone else."

Gabriel spun to his right and presented the angel to the nearest person, holding out his arms hopefully.

"Here you- oh hey Eloriel. What are you doing here?"

"Raphael told me that Samantha told him that she needed some... moral support, I think she called it? Anyways, I figured it would beat fighting but now I'm starting to think otherwise." Without another word, she took the soldier from his arms and moved her to an empty bed, calling over a nearby medic and then going back to a sperate area, where Gabriel saw Samantha sitting beside a bed.

"How are you holding up?" He asked her gently. Samantha was white in the face, her gaze a little vacant, but she mustered a small smile towards him.

"The opposite of alright." One hand went on the end of the bed next to her. "This is Carow. Eloriel introduced me to her, said I should get to know some of the patients." She sighed, "they ask a lot of questions. Carow doesn't, though, so that's cool."

"Who are you talking to?" A voice asked. Gabriel moved further along the pathway so he could be seen. Five bright blue eyes met his gaze- Three over Carow's nose and two above those.

"I'm Gabriel," he greeted, extending a hand. Carow blinked with all her eyes in unison and then extended her arm to shake it.

"Oh. Like _Gabriel._ "

"I am  _Gabriel_." He put the same stress on the word that she did.

"Oh."

"She had a head injury," Samantha told him. "Give her a moment."

Several seconds later, five eyes widened at once. "OH. _Oh_ , uh, hello-"

"Hi." Gabriel pulled a spare stool from where it lay under the bed, propping it up quickly and folding his wings in tightly as he sat. "How did it happen?"

Carow blinked, her mouth opening a moment and staying frozen until it finally moved. "I fell." Then she snorted, wincing in pain after, "of all the ways to be injured in combat, I slipped on somebody's removed bowels and smash my head against their armor."

"And that was enough to rattle you up?" Gabriel resisted the urge to use a judgmental tone.

"No, see, the armor had these..." Her upper two eyes looked at Samantha.

"Spikes."

"Yeah, yeah, spikes on it." She grinned as if it were the funniest thing. "Never seen anything like it before," she giggled, and Samantha pointed to the small flame burning in a dish on the table next to her. There were several scattered through the tent, wafting thin indigo smoke over the beds next to them.

"This does something weird," she half-whispered, and Gabriel was happy to have an explanation for the behavior of this angel. "On the plus side," Samantha continued, "this is the most she's talked in the last hour. Raphael said she'll be good to go by tomorrow." A ghost of a smile showed on her face, "you guys heal pretty fast."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Gabriel quoted in an off-hand manner. He finally recalled the orders Michael had given him. "Hey, look, I gotta go."

"Don't let us keep you," Eloriel said, and Gabriel nodded. 

"I expect I'll see you later. And Eloriel, if you do go back out to fight... Be careful." He met her eyes and did his best to tell her through his gaze alone how much he cared for her safety. And he cared for her a lot, truth be told. Seeing a rebel like Unskai wounded terribly was hard, but he could bear it and dismiss it. A friend, on the other hand, that would truly pain him. He knew that well enough. He hoped she did too.

Taking his horn into his hand once more, Gabriel headed for the door. 

* * *

 

Copper became his world after a while. Whenever Uriel opened a new gash, a new hole, a new wound, the smell was there, bitter and damn-near acidic. It was stuck to his throat and in his nose and made him thirst for more. Copper was the color of his wings when they shone through the gore they were covered in, the red of his feathers shifting in the light and bursting into metallic hues. And copper was the color of the light he was attacking.

Attacking light is very, very hard. It's not that his blades couldn't cut it. His blades wielded power from God, weapons of celestial metals. No, even light could be wounded. The problem was that the light was rather bright, more so than normal. Uriel fanned a few feathers over his eyes and squinted as he lashed out again, slicing the formless being. A blast of taunting submerged him, the angel communicating in emotion and concepts just like many others did. 

It frustrating, to say the least.

Uriel finally slashed both his hands out at once, causing the light to fizzle and crack several times, as if a short-circuiting fuse, and dissipate into nothing. He turned around and found himself face to face with what seemed to be... A face. Looking down, he saw a body. Excellent. And wings, yes, complete with missing feathers. The angel had most of the normal features, just not... facial features.

"Where are your eyes?" Uriel asked in a grunt as he slammed his knife into the angel's knee, ducking and flattening his wings before pulling them in and twisting upright. The angel released their sword and brought on hand instinctively to their leg. Uriel saw a large gray eye wildly spinning in the center of the hand. It was not the strangest method of sight he had seen that day, not by far. He kicked the body to the side and the heavy tip of his boots cracked a bone, the angel convulsing several times with laying still after that. He took a moment to get his bearings. The right flank of the army was stretching, and with the left circling forward... He made a quick decision and became airborne, banking left. Blood fell from his wings with each flap, scattering the battlefield below with a rain of copper. The smell lingered even up here. 

Finding the front of the battle, Uriel landed and barely had time to fold in his wings before he was attacked. A blade lodged itself into his wing and he spun, his hands outstretched, grabbing his attacker. A large angel with no hair, no mouth, and a few seconds later, no wings as Uriel took them in hand, tearing them with brute force. Screams threatened to deafen him, louder than the wet rip and crackle of snapping tendons and tearing of muscles. The angel he disfigured fell to the ground like a sack of jello, wretching and throwing up bile, his eyes rolling back and his body tensing every muscle. He continued to scream, his throat raw and leaking blood from his mouth. Uriel felt heat rush into his fingers, and he spread them open, letting his skin hiss and glow nearly white with heat. The fire in his palm was reflected in his eyes as he dug his hand into the cavern of the angel's mouth, silencing him with not only the loss of a proper mouth but also with the choking odor of burning flesh. The smell reached Uriel's nose as well.

 _At last, some variety_. Uriel found no humor in the thought, his hand reaching for the dagger in his wing. He gathered a breath and exhaled quickly as he yanked it from his wing, which jumped close to his body in a jolt of pain. Uriel held his hand, still glowing, to the wound, the heat of it friendly to him. His muscles relaxed, and the bleeding slowed, only for him to then feel a bite on his left arm. It was the sting of a spear, and Uriel had a hard time dissuading his attacker this time. The fight quickly became two against one and Uriel could feel sweat flying off of him as he spun out of the way, flicking a blade towards the face of the rebel only for him to dodge. The knife hovered feet from the ground and flew back to Uriel's hand, letting him try again. He pinned the foot of the rebel down before facing off against the first one again. His remaining knife hummed and sang out for death, streaking through the air with only a soft sigh of content before firmly embedding itself in the shoulder of his enemy. Uriel had both blades back in hand just a moment later, coordinating both hands to attack two opponents at once. And several swipes later, he succeeded, shaking off the pain of the gash in his leg that dripped sizzling hot blood or the throbbing bruise that spread over his hand, from where his fist had hit armor instead of an angel. He looked at the bodies around him, the heat of battle swelling inside him... 

* * *

 

Michael watched from afar as Uriel burst with fire. His body was wreathed in blinding gold light, white flames searing a perfect circle around him and those around him. All within the area were taken by fire, final screams echoing briefly before they were cut off, the angels falling as ash.

"How many was that?" He asked.

"41 rebels, 5 of our own." Gabriel watched, a thin halo of narrowed eyes hovering just around his forehead. "There are 34,835 angels on the battlefield right now, and the number is decreasing at a rate-"

"At a rate far too slow." Michael shook his head. "How many of the Host has fallen since your observation began?"

"10,746," Gabriel offered in a voice that made his concentration plain to notice. He was focused entirely on providing the numbers Michael wanted, his mind having had blocked out all other things that would distract him from the simple objective. Michael wondered what had happened to cause him to go back so fast to old habits. "And that number is increasing at-"

"A rate far too fast?"

Gabriel blinked as if startled out of a stupor. "Yes."

Michael sighed and paced across the fallen metal beam. A building had once stood here that resembled the sky-scrapers down on earth. Now it scraped the ground instead. "I don't understand," he stressed, "last time this happened, Father assembled an army against L-" He stopped for the briefest moment, "a-and now he's not? I know what you're about to say, that I can't complain and you're right. I can't. But... Is he even paying attention anymore? He told me to prepare for this, he told me that there would be a second rebellion, that he couldn't see the outcome, but honestly, why hasn't he-"

"He can't see the outcome," Gabriel said smoothly. "If he were to manipulate the fight now, and one of us did die, the blame would be on his hands."

"Who would blame Father for that?"

"Plenty. I'm sure." 

Michael only nodded, determined not to let slip any more of his doubts. Especially not the ones about his father.

"The front has been pushed just over two miles from the Peaks," Gabriel said suddenly. How long had it been since he last spoke? A few minutes, or perhaps hours. Michael stretched his wings far as they would go.

"I'll be leading the aerial attack," he said with a tone of finality. Gabriel couldn't argue even if he wanted to. "You as well. We want to hit them hard before they can hide behind the spires and pillars." The Peaks had a multitude of sheer cliffs, tall mountainous stalagmites, and caves cutting straight through stone with several pillars in place to hold up a mountain. No doubt the caverns would be used by the rebels in an attempt to escape. But they had lost too many soldiers to cover all sides of the terrain effectively, so Michael opted for a pressing attack that would let them go back later and sweep the passages free from lingering rebels.

Michael, minutes later, gave a single nod without saying anything, as if coming to some internal understanding. He had a plan in his mind, perfectly executed, but he could only hope that reality would follow suit.

"Let us lead them in song," he offered, and the two of them flew to the fighting.

\---

Uriel joined them as well, flying at their side. Raphael remained in the medical tent, only too aware of what was happening. He needed only to listen.

The angels were singing.

Gabriel, shining above the bloodshed, let out a cry of inhuman energy, of emotion, of heavenly strength. Words were wonderful, but sometimes music could boost the morale of an army better than noises alone. And the music of heaven, which had stopped months ago at the start of the war, continued once more as the Host formed their first attack. Behind the archangels, in a swarm of color against an optimistic blue sky, warriors hovered with spears and sword poised for attack. Below them, a ring of angels pressed the rebels up against rocky cliffs and ledges. Their song rose and swelled in the air, every fold and corner of heaven amplifying it. There were no mortal or immortal words, only ringing and echoing of noises that came from unearthly beings, and noises that couldn't be described as sound so much as feeling. The music resonated with every angel of heaven, rousing what courage lay within them, and drawing their eyes to the one amongst them who sang the loudest.

Not even Gabriel could outshine Michael now. With his eyes glowing white and light seeping from his pores, he shed the feeling of divinity like a large ripple through the army, his voice joining and leading the others. Chief of angels indeed. He raised his right hand, and the music seemed to pause as the breath of everyone was held, waiting for a bass drop of epic proportions.

Michael summoned his sword, the blue flame a beacon in the sky that commanded the attention of his soldiers and the fear of his enemies. It would have been a perfect time for a speech, something dramatic about their home and their father and their honor- but already the rebels were seeking escape. Michael lowered his sword, his wings flaring, and the very moment before diving, he screamed out an order.

" **CHARGE!** "

And roughly 20 thousand angels bore down upon their enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a touch shorter, I feel, but I'm very pleased with the quality of what I wrote in a shorter time than usual, so I hope you're satisfied as well. I had lots of fun writing different aspects of the characters, and I look forward to expanding on them and their journeys.   
> Side note: This battle will be split into 2- possibly 3- chapters. There's more to come!


	16. Hit Close to Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven is busy as the first battle draws to an end. Everyone deals in their own way.

 

 

~

He could hear them singing.  
  
He could feel it deep within him. He wasn't as cut off from Heaven as one might think. He could sense the stress it was under. Moments later, he heard them screaming.  
  
 _It's their fault_ , he reasoned, _to leave it like this_. He looked around desperately, his body acting in a way that was disjointed from his thoughts. His limbs moved wildly, running to try and escape the bombardment of spears and swords, but his mind was rather calm at the moment.  
  
 _I just wanted to be home_. He felt how real it was, the ground under his feet, the hum in the air.   
  
_This hasn't been my home for a long time now, just a prison with an absent warden_. He slid out of the way of an ax, nearly losing his footing and scrambling to balance.  
  
 _They told me we could have a home again. A real home_. He felt the ground turning to an incline, the grass giving way to rock. He slid against gravel, the stone digging into his bare feet and pushing into the blisters. But still, he ran.  
  
 _The caves, the caves, I have to make it-_ He dug his fingers, bloodied and scraped, into the ground and hauled himself over a ledge, his useless wings beating to try and aid him. The air went right through the gaps, a noise that whistled into his ear like a siren, warning him of the dangers. As if he wasn't well aware.  
  
 _This is my home. These caves here- That cavern I played in with the others, and we hid- I have to hide-_ He crouched down and entered a narrow passageway, twisting and descending into a larger cavern, where large holes in the stone brought in the air from above. A small tunnel in the ceiling could provide him an escape if he could only reach it. Pressing his wings against his back and curling against the stone, he waited. 

~

* * *

Michael swung downwards, his wings flashing alarmingly bright as he dove, the feathers narrowing. Behind him, the angels echoed the roar and followed in perfect formation, a swarm of blades. The song turned to screams and the hymns turned to horror as angels on both sides fell. Michael had a split second of doubt. How many would die? He didn't have time to think further, too busy fighting again. The Peaks loomed above him as he pressed on, sword in hand and swinging. It felt deeply  _right_ , to be leading his army into battle. He could only hope that it was his father's approval.

That was what he wanted, really. To make his father proud. That was easier said than done when your dad is quite literally  _God_. Michael tried his best, he really did. He had been the perfect child, doing everything right and making things better. He didn't even complain (a lot, anyway) when Metatron tried to take things over. He wasn't terrible, at least, save for some... unfortunate ideas. Hey, Michael finalized a way of getting angels to live on Earth! Sure, he used the system for himself and his brothers as well as others, but they deserved that, surely.

Except now he had no idea what his father wanted, and his father hadn't actually spoken to him in years save for the handy warning of 'hey, there's going to be another war.'

He still had control of himself, and his own free will, or at least some resemblance. He had to be doing something right. Michael swung his sword in a powerful downward blow, rewarded with a sharp, clean cracking sound that blended with the noise of flesh being severed. It nearly sounded like paper being cut or torn, on a larger and heavier scale. The angel before him only scowled, pain hidden deep behind what his eyes showed, and raised a sword in turn for a blow. They exchanged lunges and strikes for a while, darting around each other faster than a mortal eye could see. Michael knew that although he could beat this one eventually, he was wasting time. With a twist of his wrist, he sent the sword flying from the hand of his enemy and saw it boomerang around, to return just as Uriel's blades did. Too late for the angel, his own sword plunged in with a hiss of blue flame, darting in and out like a bolt of lightning. The blood sizzled and dripped off, leaving the blade clean and shining again.

Pain struck him in his head, something colliding with his helmet that left him in a momentary daze. His body acted off instinct, raising his blade into a defensive position. His eyes felt like they were racing to lock onto something and get the world into focus, making everything bit of a blur. He saw something large swinging towards him again and he twisted, letting his body fall limp to the ground. His arm thrust upward and he blinked to clear his vision, hoping to see the blade embedded into his attacker. He had no such luck, of course, not that he expected it. He hadn't even felt an impact, only the easy swipe of a sword through the air. His head began to settle, and he finally saw the angel clearly. They had seen better days, certainly. Their wings, four of them, were ragged and more than half bare, the rest in a state of what seemed to be decay. Their form was now angelic, no longer the more human appearance, and he saw a snarling lion's head. Of course, it was a Cherubim, that was just his luck these days. The mouth was open, spit dripping from receding gums as fangs stretched and seemed to grab at him. He saw something glimmer from the angel's chin and rolled over to dodge a punch and get a better look. His sword, going up through the jaws of the lion's mouth. He grabbed the hilt and pulled it towards him, slicing next at the ankle of the rebel. They dropped their weapon- a mace, it seemed, twisted spikes like warped needles covering it- and fell. Michael didn't waste more time, letting the sword guide his hand into their chest.

Another one down. Another death upon his sword. Another scream, another swing, and another spike of pain. Michael exhaled through grinding teeth as a line of blood dripped down his leg, falling to the ground below as he moved. A blade had landed a cut across his thigh and he was struggling to walk, using his wings to help him balance. He saw a shadow behind him and turned on his better leg, his sword ready again, mentally screaming at himself by now. He had to keep going, this was his decision, he had to see it through, even if it killed him. He swung again, his wings beginning to tire.

* * *

~

Hours must have passed, though he had no way to know. The air brought into the room became heavy with the scent of blood, and he tried not to think of the undeniable carnage above him. Maybe this is what the Fallen felt like at first. Separated. Alone. Terrified. Angry at the injustice they had been given. He had done so much for the movement! He was the one who helped them infiltrate communications, the one who destroyed correspondence and was nearly caught and killed for it. And he even smuggled a few weapons, from time to time. They really dared to repay him by leaving him? The back of the army was no place for him, struggling amongst the dead, vying to fight. But they  _left_ him there. He supposed he had no choice but to run now. That's what he told himself.  
  
A noise down the caverns alerted him to the presence of another. Was someone else fleeing the attack? Was someone looking for him? Maybe someone was here to tell him that they had won, that Heaven was theirs again. Or... Perhaps someone was here for a far less optimistic reason. He stayed still as he could, not daring to move, or even really breath. Every beat of his heart told him he was still alive, still in his home, still fighting. Not as much as those above him, sure, but... He quickly got lost in a loop of thoughts that shifted from terror to hope quicker than a flicker of light.  
  
Until a figure entered the cavern, crouched down to fit, and his heart sped up beyond speeds he thought possible. He made a break for the hole in the ceiling, forgetting that his wings were of no help, and he jumped a few feet up before falling back down in vain. The angel that was approaching stood up now, a curved sword in their right hand. They narrowed their eyes at him, and without hesitation, they swung.  
  
The first battle of Heaven was over. Even now, in his first and final home, he had lost. 

~

* * *

Emerging from the mass of angels, Michael pursued one up the hill. It quickly turned to cliffs and while the angel was good at running from ledge to ledge, she still didn't have wings that let her do much more than glide. It was laughably easy now to get rid of her, and he didn't even have to use his sword. No, a simple push from the clifftop worked just as well, and he watched carefully as she fell, ensuring that she died upon the impact with the ground. 

The battle had been terrible at first. Michael didn't need to have Gabriel to know that, not when he just experienced it. If he had taken so many hits, how did the rest of the Host fair? He could only have hope that the outcome would be better than he thought. As the forces of heaven pressed the rebels up against the Peaks slowly, it became easier to fight until the rebels scattered, fleeing every way they could. He himself saw the order spread through their ranks, although he wasn't sure who gave it. That had turned the tides, leading him to decide that this would likely be a victory. Technically. 

He opened his wings, letting them stretch for a moment. They normally felt as natural to him as an arm or leg would, but today they seemed heavy on his back, straining past what was helpful. He closed them and let them sag to the stone below him, looking out from the cliff to the stretch of land below him. The grass was barely visible anymore. Ruins of buildings littered the landscape, old towers, houses, and cathedrals that once mirrored the architecture of those on earth. They now smoked and collapsed, skeletons of wood and stone. It was as if a large stain had spread through heaven, ripping a divide into it and leaving a horrid scar.

In short, it reminded him just a bit too much of the last war.

Michael had to sit down. His head had started to spin and the world around him was becoming faded and numb. Not the best of signs. Gabriel helped him get through that, last time, but Gabriel wasn't next to him right now. He had to focus himself. Digging his nails into the palm, Michael forced his brain to look, really look, at the rocks by his feet. They were gray and speckled with tan, small flecks of something shiny embedded into the mix. He never really cared much for rocks, fossils, or any other measure of earth's history. It was meaningless to him, having lived through it all. He felt a small bit of satisfaction nudging the pebbles off the cliff. Satisfaction. He could feel that. Gabriel once told him to try and notice what he could feel. Except he didn't want to start feeling the exhaustion and the effort of battle, so he rose to his feet again and let gravity take him over the edge of the cliff, spreading every wing he had far as they would go and gliding down to the base of the Peaks. He wanted to make sure the cleanup had at least been started. If Uriel had instructed the soldiers properly, it should have. 

Speaking of his brother, he noticed the familiar red wings coming towards him. 

"Uriel," he called, and Uriel pivoted in mid-air, squinting for a moment.

"Michael," he relaxed and landed carefully, one of his wings not folding in quite all the way. "You've looked better."

"As have you, obviously. Have they started the cleanup?"

"I told them to begin with the caverns, yes, although I'm not sure how good a job they'll do." He hesitated and motioned half-heartedly over his shoulder. "Do you want me to-" Check on them, he had been going to ask, but Michael spoke before he finished.

"No, I'll do it. I need you to find Eloriel." He froze, "assuming..." He shook his head furiously. "Just find her, Uriel."

His expression struggling to hide his own anxiety over the matter, Uriel nodded and took flight, turned to the side to compensate for the one wing that was off. Michael remained to compose himself before he made his own way to where the remaining soldiers picked through the dead in and around the caverns, identifying what they could and taking all that was available. He really, really hoped Eloriel was alive. He had grown to like her- or maybe she grew on him.

* * *

 

She was trying not to think about it. Every time her mind wandered back to the battlefield, she was taken by images of the slaughter. There was no other word to do it justice. They had mowed down their enemies, yes, but the attack was harder- and bloodier- than she thought it would be. She had expected an easy win, after all, everyone had been saying this plan of attack was the best. Everyone had such trust in Michael to execute it flawlessly. She felt a little foolish at having the same ideas.  
  
Eloriel had been called to fight by one of the captains in the Host, an angel named Amiel. He hadn't told her, exactly, another angel had, but it was him who gave the order for everyone available to join the final attack.  
  
So she had, and instantly wished she was back in the medical tent. She wished she was anywhere but on the battlefield.  
  
Well, her wish was granted. She had survived the attack, having been at the back, but still saw far more than she would have liked. She hadn't been able to avoid combat either. The training with her spear paid off, at least, but she hadn't realized how strange it would feel to have it sink into flesh, or to pull from a mass of what looked to be bioluminescent hair or to crash it against a clattering shell of bones. She could have gone without that.  
  
Now she had a brand new problem of not being able to find anyone she knew. Not that she knew many angels, just that surely there should be a face she recognized, someone she passed in battle, but there was no one. The only faces she saw were the dead, being laid out in the field so their names could be recorded properly. So many of them were sprawled onto the field, but at least, when compared to the number of angels still alive, it was a lesser amount. That was a small blessing, at least. She knew a few of them. Old friends of hers that she hadn't seen in centuries. An angel named Ransial who she taught to fly, way back when. A Cherubim named Phala who Eloriel helped study when the girl was only a fledgling, back when young angels would gather within the towering shelves of heaven's library and learn all they could about the world. They had certainly grown since then. Grown enough to fight, apparently, and enough to die.  
  
Eloriel jumped as a sudden motion caught her eye, but it was only Uriel, pacing the field. She knew him, at least, although not well. He had been nice enough that time they all saw a movie together, but that had been so long ago and she knew he was a force to be reckoned with. It was easier to see now how their past must have changed them.  
  
He saw her and approached, causing her to instantly be wary. She had no reason to fear him, but in blood-splattered gold armor that still shone from beneath the grime with uncontested radiance, Uriel was intimidating.   
  
"Eloriel," he said. "I'm glad to see you alive. Michael's looking for you, he's at the base of the Peaks right now making sure they're being cleared out."  
  
"Thanks," she said quietly. Uriel seemed like he wanted to move on, but instead, he looked down with concern.   
  
"Are you holding up okay?" He asked her, and Eloriel didn't know how to respond.  
  
"I'm..." Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. He only nodded in understanding.  
  
"Don't stress it, then. Go see Michael, Eloriel, we can work through things later." Something about his voice made it clear to Eloriel that working through things was nowhere to be seen on his to-do list. She nodded instead of replying and spread her wings, aching and sore, to take flight.  
  
Uriel was looking for a familiar face, one he hadn't seen amongst the living. He nudged over wings and arms and various appendages time and time again, with breath held, only to see someone he didn't know and breath a sigh of relief. It was a small exhale of air, barely any, and he felt as if the last of his energy after the battle had been used to direct Eloriel.  
  
He was still looking at faces minutes later, and minutes after that, and in a way, he found himself lost to the repeated motions, like an addict to the relief of finding only a stranger dead. He would have been there for longer if Gabriel hadn't found him.

"Uriel, come on, it's time to have a meeting." His eyes were dull but swimming still with worry. "Uriel, we have to go." He looked around at the bodies around them. "Who are you searching for?"  
  
Uriel still didn't answer, only brushing the hair away from a face and moving to the next.  
  
"Dude, I'm serious, Michael's waiting."  
  
Uriel turned at looked at Gabriel, blinking. Something registered to him, and he nodded, looking for the last shreds of energy he would need. His wings spread, halfway to the height they needed to be.  
  
"Don't tell me I have to carry you." Gabriel tried not to look, but his gaze turned to the pleading eyes of Uriel. The same face had gotten him to do a lot of stupid things before when they were younger. He heaved a sigh. "Fine, but I won't be happy about it. You're heavy and my wings are tired as well." That was a rarity, tired wings. In heaven, especially, they usually had far more energy. But the battle was battle and didn't care much for how much energy an angel had. That's the way it went and the way it always would. Gabriel held Uriel in his arms, straining to fly under the weight. "You owe me a big one, though."  
  
They passed over the field and staring down blankly, Uriel was vaguely aware of how much ground he covered. He must have spent longer looking for faces than he thought. Slowly, his energy returned to him as a warmth in his toes that spread into him and seeped through his body. By the time Gabriel landed with a groan, he was starting to process the world around him.  
  
"Why did Michael call a meeting?" He asked, walking beside Gabriel to the building on the hill. It looked like the open courtyard of an old castle, the towers around it crumbling and fallen. There weren't many large, intact places anymore. Heaven would have to be rebuilt.   
  
"I don't know if you noticed, Uriel, but we won the first battle of this damn war. That should be addressed." He became suddenly glum, "the term 'win' is debatable, of course. We lost a lot of good fighters. Almost too much for the victory to be worth it. You may need to train some more."  
  
Uriel groaned audibly. "For heaven's sake, I hope not. Alright, where is everyone?"  
  
"Coming," said Michael, approaching them. "Raphael will be joining us, of course, any minute now."  
  
They waited together in the ruins, until a shimmer of green grew larger and larger, coming up the hill in short bursts of flapping.  
  
"Came as quickly as I could," Raphael said. Eloriel, standing behind Michael, was obviously relieved to see him okay. He glanced at her and smiled briefly before gathering his brothers into a large hug, despite the muffled protest from Michael.  
  
"I'm glad you guys are okay," he said quietly, loud enough for only them to hear.  
  
"We did it," Michael said, "there may be more battles to come, but we... We won this one."  
  
A hand shot out from the pile, looking to be either Uriel or Gabriel's, and wrapped Eloriel into the hug. She couldn't complain, letting her wings stretch over the group. They all broke apart slowly, unwilling to be separate yet.   
"Hey, um," Eloriel looked around, "Where's Samantha?"  
  
"Passed out in the medical tent," Raphael said. "the singing wasn't... It couldn't be processed by a mortal mind. She just slipped into oblivion. Probably for the best."  
  
"I need you all to focus," Michael reminded them. "I'm going to be calling the Host together any minute now, or what's left anyways. Gabriel, you will be expected to give the numbered report. Uriel, I want you to deliver an estimate on the new recruits we will have to draft. Raphael, any updates you can give on the survival rates in the tent would be lovely."  
  
"Just don't get on a rant again," Uriel sighed, "no one has to hear five minutes of talking regarding the new super awesome bandages or whatever that you have. The only reason you got away with that is that everyone was too polite to shut you up."  
  
"I'll try," Raphael said with a resigned sigh. "So long as you don't delve into battle tactics for ten minutes."  
  
"That was Michael's fault!"  
  
"You started it, Michael only enabled it. Which is just as bad, really. Michael, you're supposed to be the one keeping us all on track."  
  
Michael crossed his arms, his wings puffing back slightly as if the feathers were bristling. "You all should know to handle yourselves by now. And I thought the tactical discussion was eye-opening and educational, but it seems I was the only one with such a view." He groaned, "let's just call the meeting. Gabriel?"  
  
Gabriel took his horn and played a note higher than the ones he normally echoed over a battlefield. The angels tensed briefly as if awaiting news of an attack but quickly began moving again when the message became understood. The courtyard slowly filled, although the number of angels present was dishearteningly low. They seemed to be in high spirits, if not mellowed by the reality of things. Michael flew with a few flaps up onto the balcony that jutted from the ruins- given that the inhabitants of heaven had wings, it was an architectural trend of sorts.

"Your attention, please!" Michael called over the field. His words thundered over the assembled angels and they fell silent, watching him. He took a deep breath, removing the silver helmet he wore. It appeared more tarnish now than it had been in countless years. "I want to thank you all for the victory we have achieved today." His lips twitched upwards and he allowed them to do so. "The last two days have been hard-" a murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, comprised of many angels who had lost track of time- "But I am pleased to declare this battle a success. Speaking after me now will be Archangel Uriel."

Uriel raised his wings the slightest bit as if they were beacons of red to get the attention of the crowd. it wasn't necessary, he had it already. Raphael had a faintest frown as he saw one of the wings not moving well with the rest, but he kept quiet.

"We took quite a hit this time," he began, "and that fact is only made up for by the number of casualties we inflicted onto the rebel army. In order to compensate for the loss, we will be drafting a minimum of 50,000 recruits from the surrounding regions and accepting all volunteers. I will lead training for the next two months, and then assign several more officers to assist. More information on that will be provided when the time comes." He looked to Michael, who gave a nod.

"Archangel Gabriel?"

Gabriel began speaking without further prompting. "We began the battle with a standard fighting force of 50,000 angels. This is a count of fighting angels and does not include messengers, medics, metalsmiths, supply runners, and other non-combat personnel. By the time Archangels Michael, Raphael, and I returned, the total was 30,431 angels not including ourselves. Our fatality count is 10,514 angels." He paused for a solemn moment of silence, allowing the information to sink in. "I estimated that of the 15,151 rebels present before the aerial attack, roughly 200 have likely managed an escape. The Host currently has 19,685 angels, most of which are in fighting condition. That is all."

Angels in the crowd exchanged nervous glances. To think that some rebel angels had managed to escape... It was not a comfortable thought.

"Archangel Raphael," Michael called, "if you would be so kind?"

"Currently the medical tent has 232 wounded angels. After the next 24 hours, it will become apparent the individual chances of survival. At least 60% of all wounded are in stable condition. Supplies are available still. That is all I have to report." He looked a bit uncomfortable, although Michael couldn't tell why.

"Thank you," he said, addressing all of his brothers. "At this time, officers should dedicate a fourth of their soldiers to clean up and rebuilding tasks. Everyone else who has no task at the moment should get one from a superior or assist the prioritized reconstruction of critical builds like the Battle Hall and the Residential Tower in this region." He took another moment to swing his gaze over the crowd, pleased at how they were listening to his every word. "This meeting is dismissed."

He met up behind the ruins with the angels he had been so accustomed to. 

"Uriel, you should get that wing checked," Raphael was saying, "I think if the muscle-"

"I'll take care of it later," Uriel argued. Michael knew he would be stubborn about it. After any sort of conflict, he always became more grumpy and agitated. It ran in the family, he supposed, realizing that he himself sometimes did the same.

"Where's Eloriel?" Michael asked. He wanted to know where the young angel was. She had left with the other angels and he couldn't see her nearby.

"Medical tent, I believe. She has a friend there, Carow." Raphael squinted down the hill to where he saw the smallest bit of red on the horizon as if he could somehow see Eloriel over there.

"And where are the captains?" Michael looked around with the muscles of his face tense, his eyes narrowed and his lips stiff. His head pivoted for several moments and scanned the ground until he saw several approaching forms.

"Michael," Gabriel said, making an observation before Michael could, "there's only-"

"Three, I see. Raphael, go to the tent and check on Samantha." As Raphael left, Michael lifted one of his wings high and beckoned the captains over. Three angels landed before him.

The first angel to his left had pink hair in tight curls close to her head. It shimmered nearly gold in this light, although the imagery was marred by the tufts and clumps of hair that stuck out and disturbed the smooth curve. Her wings had large, broad feathers and each one was a light yellow, like a peeled banana. She was notably tall, nearly tall as Michael himself was, although that wasn't all too strange given the diverse appearance of angels.

The middle of them was shorter by about a foot but seemed like he would gladly destroy anyone who cared to point it out. His wings had multiple colors throughout them, feathers of gold and green speckled with a few that shone white. He had four wings, unlike the two that the other captains had. Most angels had a standard two in their normal forms, regardless of how many they had in their angelic forms if they did have any. The notable exceptions to this trend were the archangels and a few handfuls of other angels. This one was amongst those. His hair was white and came down to his waist, hanging in a thick braid down his back that had gold ribbons woven into it. The only thing that seemed remarkably plain about him were his eyes, a gray-green color that could be found anywhere on earth.

"Michael," he greeted.

"Hello, Amiel," Michael curtly in response. His gaze shifted to the last angel in front of him.

She had dark brown- nearly black- hair that was cropped above her eyes in bangs that appeared to have been cut with a dagger. The rest of it had been pulled up into a bun that was covered in a fine net of copper strands. Her eyes were just as dark, like looking down into an inkpot and seeing the faintest reflection of light. Her wings were a purple sort of brown, although now had large patches of reddened tint. The feathers were frayed and tired, it was obvious that she had been previously at the front lines of the attack and came out alive. Her sword was at her side, looking worse for wear with dented edges and a few small bends in the metal.

"Michael," she said, "we lost him."

Michael looked around the three of them as if in disbelieve, as if surely there had to be someone else with them. "I can't believe... Randiah," he said, at last, shocked. "I thought if anyone was to make it, it would be him." 

Uriel pushed past Michael, his hands on the shoulders of the last angel. "Jasiel," he said in a tone of relief. "Jasiel, you made it, I'm pleased to see."

"You can't get rid of me that easier," she scoffed. "After all these centuries you ought to know that." She smiled, but the expression quickly fell. "I'm afraid I must report that we need a new captain, someone with fighting experience."

Uriel glanced at Michael, who only gave a small shrug. A sort of  _do what you must_.

"I'll head to the Battle Hall and see who I can find," he said. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure," Michael said offhandedly, taking a look at the first angel that had lined up. "Serendael, how was the aerial charge in your area?"

"They managed," she said, "although I think if we had had more time to practice diving formations we could have been a lot neater. Jasiel told me that there was a time in the First War when she helped lead an aerial attack and it was so tightly kept it drove the enemies back a mile-"

"Yes, it was quite impressive." Michael hurried to dismiss the thought. The first angelic war was not something he particularly cared to think about. "Jasiel, how did we lose Randiah?"

She sighed deeply. "Remember when we were surveying the 17th sector of Heaven together, looking for a rebel encampment?"

"Yes..." Michael sounded rather unsure of where she was going with this.

"Remember that one fellow on the ground who had a pulled wing and couldn't fly?"

"Are you telling me one of my best soldiers died to a pulled wing?"

"No, no, please let me finish. He couldn't fly but he still did his best with his knives when we were ambushed, right?"

"Of course he did. He died bravely."

"It was like that. An ambush. Except backup came too late this time."

Michael sat on a crumbled piece of stone and sighed deeply. "He went out fighting, then. Good." He gave the captains all a cursory glance, "you may return to the Battle Hall. If Uriel has found a replacement I want you to get to know them. If not, you can assist your groups with their tasks." 

* * *

"Raphael, you're back!" Eloriel was delighted. "Samantha and I were wondering if Carow was free to go?"

"I'm feeling much better," the angel claimed, brushing a lock of hair from one of her eyes, "I can think properly now. I've almost remembered the plot of  _Hamlet_." She received two puzzled looks from her friends. "I popped down to Earth time to time, you know. I'm not  _that_ ignorant. Although, I did spend most of my time reading, so I suppose I have some catching up to do."

Raphael came closer and leaned forward, his hands slowly passing back and forth over her with the same green glow Samantha had seen before. He knitted his eyebrows together and stepped back, eyeing Carow. "I think you're all set to go. Lucky for you, the battle is over."

"Oh, I heard," Carow said. "I would have joined the singing, but it hurt Samantha's ears and then she passed out."

"It was like nails on a chalkboard, but in a way that was too beautiful instead of too painful to the point where it ended up painful anyways," explained Samantha. She wasn't very clear, but to be fair, was describing something that wasn't limited by words.

"I don't quite understand," Raphael said, "but I'll make a note of that. There haven't been many studies on the effects of angelic language on mortals and I'd like to explore that further."

"I'm not your guinea pig," Samantha said, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed. "I've already been pestered enough by angels wanting to know what Earth is like. I thought they could visit when they wanted, no?"

"Not quite, it's a process to go through. Otherwise, there would be... Too much traffic, one could say." 

Samantha gave him a blank look and Raphael elaborated.

"Well, after the first war, there was a void of power with Lucifer gone, so Metatron stepped up and became an archangel. Michael allowed him to rule for a while because he was busy recovering, and during this time he created the system that allowed angels passage to and from Earth. It wasn't until Metatron's whole  _Jesus idea_ backfired with the angels and Michael took power again that it was finalized enough for us ourselves to use, but my point is, he spent a lot of time fine tuning it but as a result it's difficult to do and most angels who go to earth prefer to stay there rather than deal with going back."

"We came here just fine," Samantha pointed out. Her fingers drummed against the bed frame and it was apparent that Raphael's long answers were losing her attention.

"Yes, because Michael opened the door."

"Because... never mind," Samantha gave up trying to understand. "One more thing, actually," she changed her mind, "why can I understand everyone? I thought you guys spoke another language?"

"We do," Raphael began to smile, but then looked warily at Samantha. "you don't mind the English, right? I thought you would like being able to understand-"

"I do," she interrupted, "I do, yes, but how is everyone speaking it?"

"I told them to." Michael took a spot next to his brother, giving them a friendly nod. "While I was relaying orders to the army. The nice thing about being in charge of heaven is that angels will listen to you. And they can damn well put up with listening to me in another language, it's not like they don't know it." 

Carow was wide-eyed at Michael's appearance, standing up from where she had previously been seated on the edge of the bed. Michael ignored her for now and focused on Eloriel. 

"How are you? I meant to talk to you earlier but that I had to call the meeting."

"I'm..." Eloriel sighed, "that  _sucked_ , honestly."

Michael hummed and nodded. He knew how hard the experience was. It would be better in time. A long time, sure, but  _eventually._  "Is this a friend of yours?"

Eloriel looked from him to Carow and back again. "Oh, yeah. Michael, this is Carow. Carow, this is-"

"Michael." She bobbed her head in what looked like it was supposed to be a nod. "I'm Carow, I trained under Uriel and Captain Amiel." She held out a hand and Michael shook it. 

"It's good to meet you. A friend of Eloriel's is a friend of mine." He seemed remarkably at ease. "Hey, Raphael. I'm heading back to the Tower to dig out the old battle plans. We need to shore up our defense and set an extra guard on the-"

"Tell me later, perhaps," Raphael suggested, although he sounded desperate for Michael to stop before he got too overbearing. "And go for it, I'm not stopping you. I'll see you tomorrow, most likely. There's too much to do here." He cast a hand out and gestured at the rows of beds.

"Right. Good meeting you, Carow. Eloriel, Samantha, you two stick together alright?" He gave them a final wave and turned with his wings tucked in to squeeze by Raphael, making his way to the exit. Raphael huffed the moment he was out of earshot.

"Leave it to him to pretend he's fine," he muttered under his breath. Turning back to the other three, he put on a smile (fully aware of how hypocritical he was being). "Carow, you can go back to your residence as well, if you'd like."

"I need to stretch my wings," she said, ruffling the gray feathers. Small black flecks on the tips shook like static. "Maybe I could show Samantha around?"

"Sure," Eloriel said, "if she's cool with that. I still have the energy to carry her." 

Samantha looked like she had a lot on her mind and would much prefer to sit it out. But the allure of exploring heaven-  _heaven_ \- was too strong.

"Alright," she said, standing. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Michael was back in his rooms, looking through the old desk of his office. His drawers were opened one by one as he peeked inside and shut them again. His breathing sped up and his search became more frantic until finally, his fingers closed around the curled paper that Gabriel had influenced to stay new and fresh. He remembered a time when he was so much younger, surrounded by his brothers as he drew up plans.

~

_"And then we circle them from here and break their formation."_

_Uriel stared at the paper, "It's not a very good one. Are you sure that's what they're doing?"_

_"I think they've been caught off guard. But Lucifer's going to make a proper army soon, knowing him. We have to be ready." Michael paused, "maybe we should scrap this and make a new one."_

_"No, no," Gabriel butt in, "it's good, we just need more angels to the left here or else they can move to the side and we won't be able to respond as fast."_

_"Good catch," Michael marked it down. "Raphael, what do you think?"_

_Raphael sighed and tilted his head, "why can't we just talk to Lucifer?" He stuttered as his brothers erupted into a chorus of protest._

_"I told you already-"_

_"Lucifer won't listen, come on-"_

_"If that was the case then why did-"_

_"No avoiding it, really-"_

_"Guys," he pleaded over them, "we don't_ actually  _have to fight him, do we? Why can't we just let him get over his drama and relax?"_

_"I can't believe you're suggesting that," Michael said. "Raphael, he's been messing around with the humans. Changing them. Father worked too hard to have one of his children ruin it all."_

_"Ruin? What he did is called 'ruining' now, is it? Keep telling yourself that, Michael, maybe you can ignore the fact that you never were able to do what-"_

_Michael blared with light, now more than pissed at his brother. " **Raphael, I don't want to hear you speak that way again! Not another word.** "_

_Raphael had paused, clenched his fists, then darted from the room to the balcony and took flight. Michael didn't even watch him fly away. He turned back to the plans, ready to begin a new draft._

~

 _I was a terrible brother,_ Michael thought,  _how has he managed to forgive me? I wouldn't even forgive myself!_ He spread the plans out over the desk and leaned forward with a hand on each end to stop the paper from rolling up again.

_He didn't understand, that wasn't my fault, surely. I was already about to fight Lucifer, couldn't he see that I didn't want another brother dead? I didn't want to have to kill him too. I was protecting him, then, right?_

He slid back onto a stool and stood up when he realized his armor was still on. He began taking it off, wrestling the buckles and straps as if they were to blame for his tension. At last, he stood in a sweat-soaked shirt and pants, panting with exertion. His head turned left and he saw his own reflection in the mirror. His eyes were nearly bloodshot, a look in them echoing wild tones and haunted thoughts. He was a mess. Even his wings were ragged and crusted with blood. He stumbled to the bathroom and a shower turned on without prompting. Michael shrugged off the rest of his clothing and stumbled in the small room, water falling from the ceiling as if it were raining. Hot water dripped down his wings and red rivulets trickled down his legs under they came heavy to the floor, swirling scarlet down the drain. Michael folded his wings into his sides and slid down the side, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall with his breathing finally starting to slow.

The battle was over. He was safe.

 _There's still a 50% chance of death,_ a part of him dared to whisper. Michael frowned as if his gaze could tear a hole in the tiles. He wasn't even fighting a brother this time, he was defending his home.

The battle was over. He was safe.

 _There are still rebels. They'll try again, it's only a matter of time._ Michael leaned over his knees and placed his chin on them, watching the red mix with silver and gold. His wings finally felt lighter.

The battle was over. He was safe.

The water slowly turned clear as he stood up, spinning and scrubbing at every inch of skin he found until it practically shone. He didn't have to worry about the rebels at this moment. He was home, and his brothers were alive. That was all he could ask for. Michael tilted his head up and closed his eyes, letting the water fall onto his face and drip onto his shoulders. He spread his wings as much as he could and tensed, letting the water run through each feather. He took a few slow, deep breaths, turned off the water, and began to dry himself. He didn't need a towel to accomplish this, but it was a small comfort that he would gladly allow himself. He found a clean change of clothing and went to the balcony, leaning over the railing and watching the land far below. Angels looked like specks from up here at the top of the Residential Towers, but he could see the rebuilding process already well underway.

The battle was over. They were safe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Notes-  
> First and most importantly:  
> \- I'm considering writing a second work in this fictional universe where it's basically how this book started- that is, 4 angelic brothers being dorks. Each chapter in the work would be its own small story and have an independent plot. This would let me indulge in some humorous scenes that I'd like to write and also give a refreshing look at these characters *before* they were tossed into a battle (whoops, my bad). I'm probably going to do this but it could mean either A: the work would have irregular updates (more so than this one, I mean) or B: It would possibly cut into the time I spend updating this one. If anyone has a thought as to what they would prefer, I'd love to hear it.
> 
> On with the rest of the notes:  
> \- The POV at the beginning that alternates with Michael is simply an unnamed rebel angel and serves to provide a peek into what the rebels think of all this. TLDR: They don't like it.  
> \- I tried my best with those numbers that Gabriel gives, alright? I'm nowhere near 100% sure they add up right, so just... Use them to get an idea of what he's talking about, I suppose.  
> \- An alternative title for this chapter: Everyone Pretends to be Fine (But Isn't).  
> \- If you ever see any plot holes or bits of missing information, please let me know! I have a lot of this in my head (and hastily written onto my notes app) so it's possible that I've written based off information that I haven't actually included.
> 
> Thanks for reading Heaven on Earth, I'm glad you're enjoying the story! (I mean, surely you must be if you've read up to this chapter...)


	17. Having Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has doubts about what they know. Michael comes to a worrisome conclusion

Five days after the first battle, Uriel realized how paranoid he was.  
  
To be fair, Serendael spotted it first. She had mentioned to him in passing that he had to relax, and of course, he hadn't listened. But today, passing her on his way from the library back to the Tower, she stopped him.  
  
"Uriel," she greeted, her roaming eyes finally settling on him. "You're looking better."  
  
He paused and took a moment to note how she looked. It was hard for him to actually stop, especially with how his brain had been racing with every sound and motion. But he gave her a quick check, the same way he would check one of the soldiers for injury. Serendael had ditched the armor for a loose, sage green top and baggy pink pants. The belt around her waist was white, and still held a small dagger at her side. Uriel couldn't fault her for that- he had his blades with him as well.  
  
He moved aside from the path as another angel walked past him, his head turning quickly to glance at the passerby. Flying was wonderful but only practical for slightly longer distances, like making a trip to a meet with a friend. Getting from one building to another a block away was easier done on foot. Serendael shifted aside as well, mirroring his movements.  
  
"You look well also," he said, returning what he assumed to be a compliment as his gaze fell back on her. She shook her head at him, one hand vaguely indicating his entire being as she spoke.  
  
"I said _better_ , not _well_. Look, it's obvious to everyone that you're straining yourself."  
  
"I am not," Uriel denied.  
  
"When was the last time you slept?" She raised a pink eyebrow as if daring him to lie.  
  
"We don't need to sleep in Heaven," he answered, dodging her question.  
  
"If you can tell me right now that you _don't_ enjoy passing out in a state of comatose for several hours at a time, I'd say you're lying. Uriel, you aren't sending a good message to the Host."  
  
The mention of the army got his attention at last and he made no attempt to brush off her remark. "What message?"  
  
"Well, seeing as you've been paranoid-" she spoke louder over his objections- "and on edge for days, everyone's a bit uneasy and tense. It's hard for us to rest in that sort of state. You as well. You can talk to your brother and I'm sure he'd agree that you need more sleep."  
  
Talking to Raphael was the last thing on Uriel's mind. His youngest brother wasn't annoying (most of the time), he was simply far too busy for visitors. The last of the angels were finally trickling from the medical tent and he was working hard as he could to ensure they were back in good health as soon as possible.  
  
"If I try to relax, will you stop pressing me further?" Now he had resorted to negotiations? Perhaps Serendael was right and he was tired.  
  
"I will," she seemed pleased with his response. "Get some rest, please."  
  
"Are you telling me what to do?" Uriel kept his tone light with jest and Serendael laughed.  
  
"I would never, sir, it's a suggestion is all!" She passed him and her wings spread, yellow against blue as she took flight. The sky never really changed in Heaven, just blue and sometimes dotted with puffy white clouds. On the rare occasion, it did rain, everyone was rather happy- rain meant flying in the water and in Heaven, where flying was always easier, flying in rain was far more delight than a burden.  
  
Uriel spread his wings now and fly upwards, around the tower. It was a large hexagonal building, 6 faces towering up beyond sight. Each side on each floor had a balcony on which angels would enter to access their living space. Uriel ascended higher, spotting a few angels here and there speaking on the balconies. A glimmer of deep blue caught his attention and he almost thought Michael was below him until he noted the single set of wings. He beat his own faster, allowing warmth to spread through them and give him access to the uppermost region of the Residential Tower.  
  
Any angel who couldn't get there would find themselves simply in a loop from the 'top' of the tower to the bottom. But angels who had angelic energy that the Tower responded to- and there were only 4 angels in Heaven to whom it would- were able to avoid the loop and go to their rooms.  
  
The top of the Tower had eight floors. Four of these were the Archangel's, that is, Raphael's, Gabriel's, Uriel's and Michael's. There was one just under Michael's that was abandoned now, and that had been Lucifer's. The one below Raphael's used to be Metatron's, before he had fled Heaven, and of the remaining two one was a common area to share and one was a spare room that hadn't been used in many, many years. There was no need, after all, although Uriel now landed just within it.

He had been considering turning the room into a space for Eloriel and Samantha. He would have to talk to Michael before taking any action, of course, but it wouldn't be too difficult. A bit of tidying up- cups still covered the table from a party Gabriel had thrown a few thousand years ago- and straightening things out would see the space ready to use rather quickly.

With a glance at the bed, visible through an open door, Uriel recalled that he told Serendael he would relax. That was easier said than done, but perhaps he could, at the very least, lay down for a bit. He took a few steps back and turned to jump from the balcony, a few quick downward flaps propelling him up to his own rooms. He shut the opaque glass door behind him and strolled to the wide bed, leaning backward and spreading his wings to fall onto the cushions. The cheerful yellow did nothing to help his mood. He wasn't sad, but in a glum sort of feeling, that wasn't much of a feeling so much as it was an undeniable presence of burden.

He could have lay in that feeling forever, but his attempt at rest was interrupted when someone landed on his balcony. Uriel didn't bother looking, knowing exactly who had been bugging him for the last few days.

"Michael, I already gave you my opinion on those plans you drew up!" He folded in the wings on his right and rolled onto his side. Footsteps crossed the floor and he saw the bottom of a long green shirt, tan pants poking out from under them. Behind the clothing, green feathers shimmered.

"I'm sure he appreciated that," Gabriel said, "anyways, I'm not Michael and I'm not here to discuss battle tactics, thank heavens. I'm here to tell you that the captains have their new member selected and want to you check her over. Oh, by the way- Eloriel, Samantha, and Carow are visiting the fledglings today and I wanted to know if you want to go as well?"

"There's just way too much to do, I'll have to leave them to it. As for the captains..." Uriel groaned and rolled off the bed. His wings splayed messily but he couldn't be bothered to fix them. He picked himself up with a sigh, "I'll go see them, then."

As he left, Gabriel narrowed his eyes and called after him, "hey, dude, you should really get some rest."

Uriel wanted to scream. 

* * *

 

"What did you say your name was?" Eloriel couldn't help but be confused.

"Pharalogemi- You know what, you can call me Phara."

"And the fledgling?"

"This is Jarnel."

The shy angel hid behind his wings, which were a deep brown and far too big for his body. Phara reached down and patted his head. "Jarel, why don't you go tell Dara that there are a few visitors who would love to have a conversation?"

The fledgling quickly ran off, his wings beating to little effect. Moments later, another came running along, occasionally lifting a few feet off the ground as their wings beat in a hurry.

"Visitors?" They had wide eyes that were filled with gray as if clouded with smoke. "We have visitors?" Despite asking Phara, their gaze was directed straight in front of them.

"Right here. This is Eloriel, this is Carow, and this is the human Samantha." 

It was unnerving how still the angel stood, eyes not twitching. "I see. It's great to meet you!" She held out a hand and they all shook it one by one. "Pharalogemian, Habul is trying to bite his friends again."

Phara looked behind Dara and raised an eyebrow. "Again? Well, I'm sure his friends will figure it out."

Samantha had a shocked expression on her face.

"He's biting people," she said, "You're not going to stop him?"

"It will encourage play fighting," Phara said, and then under her breath, "I hope." She raised her voice again, "I  _should_ go make sure no one is seriously hurt, I suppose. Behave yourself, Dara, okay?"

"Yes, no problem." The angel still had a fixed look in the distance, her head unmoving. "So, Samantha, you're a human? How did you end up in the angelic part of Heaven? Are you dead?" Their eyebrows furrowed and they shook their head, "no, you're not dead..."

"I was brought her to aid in the battle," Samantha said, "Raphael said I could help."

"Raphael?" Dara seemed surprised but shrugged it off, "alright then, if you say so. Are you ever going home?"

Samantha didn't speak for a while until finally, she replied, "Once it's safe to, and earth won't be in any danger."

"I'm sure the archangels will help you. They've always been very nice, haven't they? Eloriel, congratulations on the promotion to Power."

Eloriel seemed shocked, "you can... You know... See?"

"I've been developing a sense for it."

"Well, if you can see past events... that explains the eyes," Carow muttered, and Dara nodded.

"I don't need eyes to see." They smiled, wide and child-like, and Samantha found herself relaxing. 

"Are their other angels who can do that?" She asked, and Dara stood still as they thought, then answered without moving further.

"See without the use of eyes? Plenty. If you're referring to seeing the past, however... A handful. Maybe twenty others, I believe? It's easier to see the past than it is the future, of course. I still don't know if I'll have the ability or not. My parents were able to, though, so maybe I can be even better!"

"Parents?" Samantha looked at Eloriel.

"Right, you don't know. Uh... Some angels are created from more or less nothing, remnants of God's energy I suppose, but some angels are able to reproduce like humans do and have children that way. An angel named with the suffix of -el, or -iel or -ael, etc, are likely created, whereas those who aren't, like Carow or Dara here, were born naturally."

"Come with me," Dara took Samantha's hand without warning and began walking, "I'll show you around."

\---

Samantha passed green fields, swathes of trees and tangled branches, and a deep pond that had strange pink flowers growing like a net over the surface, crossed with thick vines that fledglings were balancing on before splashing into the water with laughter. The sun shone brightly, not in an angry way but in a pleasant way that reminded Samantha of the days she spent in her childhood playing in the backyard. The sound of a stream bubbled nearby and bird song swelled on the breeze, although she had yet to see a bird.

Dara was a strange tour guide to have. Eloriel and Carow trailed behind, talking amongst themselves, but Samantha was content just getting to experience the sights of Heaven. Her problem was that Dara didn't look in the direction of what they were talking about, and if Samantha missed a directing point toward something, she often couldn't find it.

"And over here," Dara was saying, "is the older section where we spend the last years of our childhood before moving into the Residential Tower. It houses angels ages 75 to 100. This is my first year in it, so in 25 years I'll be moving out."

"Is that considered a long time?" Samantha tried to look at the time from a different point of view but couldn't wrap her head around it. Dara froze, and Samantha knew that they were looking at her.

"Er, no. Not really. I mean it feels like it for me because I haven't lived that long, just like how when I was fifty, ten years seemed like a lot, but it really isn't." They gave their shoulders a shrug and pointed to a cluster of angels who were sprinting around a pile of curved wooden sculptures, running up the sides and twisting to launch off with stretched wings. "Those are some of my friends."

Eloriel and Carow finally caught up and smiled as they watched the children play.

"Remember when that was us?" Carow asked, and Eloriel grinned wickedly.

"Oh yeah, and you 'accidentally' fell on me every day?"

"Of course. Accidentally," Carow didn't even try to pretend that she was being truthful. She watched as Samantha strolled forward cautiously, only to be enveloped by a swarm of angelic youth who wanted to talk to her. Carow stifled a laugh, but the chuckled in her throat tasted bittersweet as she saw Samantha bend down and pick up a sword that had been lying on the ground.

"Is this safe?" She called to them, and Eloriel saved Carow from having to answer by replying.

"Well, safer than learning to fight later in life with no exposure to weapons before. Can't have fledglings afraid of swords now, can we? Since Michael pushed back the age limit on training to 50-"

"50?" Samantha's voice was heavy with disbelieve, "isn't the rather young for you? I mean, I'm nearly 50!"

"It is rather young, but he did what was necessary." Eloriel was quick to argue.

 Carow retaliated, "I trained, like my peers, but none of us have fought yet. Uriel sent out the older forces first. From what I've heard, things were pretty bad, but he still refused to use the youngest of his soldiers. Even so..."

"He didn't send them out, even better!" Eloriel smiled slightly, hopefully, but Carow didn't seem to agree.

"Speak for yourself," Carow said, shaking her head. "The age limit being lowered... that's the one thing I refuse to agree with him on. Sending fledglings to fight should not have even been considered as an option."

"Regardless," Eloriel shot back, "he had to do something, anything. I know we missed a lot of the battle, but we were planning the best we could while on earth-"

"Don't start acting like you're one of them," Carow snapped back. "Eloriel, we cannot do that." She tensed and seemed to be not angry, but scared, and Samantha couldn't figure out why. "They're the leaders of the Host. We... We're not, alright?"

"I know that," Eloriel said, "but we all want what's best. We all need to work together and find a better solu-"

" _They_ know what's best! They always have! When Michael took charge of Heaven again, things were better than they had been in  _so, so long_."

Samantha tapped Dara on the shoulder, and whispered, "can we go visit another area now?"

Dara nodded and guided Samantha away from the angels that were lost in the argument.

"-And Gabriel even helped me practice!" Eloriel was desperately trying to get Carow to see. The brothers weren't just leaders, they were so much more! But her friend remained insistent.

"G-Gabriel gave you training? How is it possible, then, that you feel so at ease about this all?"

"You ought to be relaxing if you really think they have it all handled!"

" _I don't know_ _!_ " Carow huffed, slouching a bit as if the argument had drained her of all the energy she had. "But what am I supposed to think, Eloriel? What's the alternative? That I doubt them? Doubting them could get me killed in combat. Doubting them could get you, or Samantha, or," she gestured to the children in the distance, "or all of them killed! I can't let myself doubt them. You... You aren't making it easy!" Her eyes grew wet, and she looked as if the tears personally offended her, wiping them off distastefully. "You came back, acting like you're so much better, but Eloriel, we could all die at any moment. We may live forever if all goes well but we can still die. That's been a reality since Lucifer fell-" Eloriel grew instantly uncomfortable with his name.

"Carow..."

But Carow continued, "-and the thing is, we have no idea what that was like. We can learn from the veterans all we want. Read all the books in the library. Heaven knows I read all I could on earth trying to understand war and I still don't. My point is, we are new at this. You've been around for what, 4,000 years? I've been here around 5,000. They have been around since the beginning of time. Through the formation of the planets. Life emerging from the oceans as Father began his work on earth. If I can't trust them to have things handled..." Carow seemed to have run out of words, and at last Eloriel spoke.

"I understand, Carow, I do. I mean, I've been living with them for a while and they can be a lot to deal with. They are definitely different from us, I won't contest that point. I just want you to see that they are more than leaders of the Host and the first created from our Father." She sighed, looking off in the direction Samantha had gone. "And when Michael made the choice to lower the age of training... It was hard for him, Carow." She pushed by her friend and spread her wings. "I was there when he decided." She took flight easily and Carow was left with the sight of distant silver wings and her own trembling hands.

* * *

 

"What did you say your name was?" Uriel was in his armor again, although it had been scrubbed thoroughly clean since he last wore it. He stood on one end of a table, leaning over it. The angel on the other side, clad in armor as well, wasn't deterred by his intimidation.

"Masiel, sir."

Uriel looked to the paper in his hands, his eyes scanning the symbols upon it. "You trained under Captain Amiel." 

"I did." Masiel glanced around, "I kind of expected him to be here."

"Just us," Uriel responded deftly. "And you are how old?"

"A rounded 10,000 years. Created around the time when people learned how to kill each other."

"Ah, I remember watching them. It was nice seeing them actually doing something after most civilizations were destroyed in the war... Speaking of, what was your role in the last battle?"

"I was on the ground pushing back the rebels, between the medical tent and the Peaks. I was positioned in the front right quarter of the group."

Uriel had a pencil in his hand and made a few marks on the paper. They glowed gold before seeming to sink into the paper, staying there permanently. 

"I want you to tell me now why you think you've been picked for this task," he told her, watching her carefully. Her brows furrowed and he noticed thin purple veins crossing under her skin, that spread through her entire body like a web of shimmering oil. Her eyes were set on her clasped hands, flicking occasionally as if she could see her thoughts. At last, she began speaking, and as she did so her eyes, a vivid green-blue, settled on him.

"I saved several people in the charge," she began, "and even before the battle, I've held a job at the Battle Hall keeping things clean, although uh," she ducked her head, "that was easier said than done. A lot of the weapons would hurt any hand that touched them. I've spent time organizing classes for fledglings before and I helped lead some training drills with my peers."

Uriel took a few moments to finish jotting down the qualifications. "Anything else?"

"My sparkling personality?" Uriel stared blankly at her and she sighed, "no, nothing else I can think of."

"Well," Uriel signed his name over a line on the paper, "please sign below mine." He slid the paper and pencil over to Masiel. She took it, confused, but still signed with a few simple characters. Uriel took back the papers and watched where her signature blazed bright silver.

"You, Masiel of the Choir Virtue, will henceforth be Captain Masiel of the Angelic Host." He allowed himself to break his stern appearance and smile, pleased to have a new captain. No one could replace Randiah entirely, of course, but this was a necessity. He produced from a drawer in the table a silver badge, which had the appearance of two crossed spears and a pair of wings outspread behind them. Pressing it on the armor between her left shoulder and collarbone, the badge affixed itself and Uriel took a step back.

Masiel straightened instantly, her indigo wings snapping tightly closed behind her. "Thank you, sir, I won't let you down."

\---

They quickly parted ways after that, Masiel to the Battle Hall to meet the angels she now led and Uriel to try and find Eloriel. He knew it was her first time in battle the other day and wanted to see how well she was holding up.

A few miles away, however, although something like 'distance' was flexible in heaven, Michael was leaving his rooms, his wings outstretched as he dove from the balcony. Air rushed by him and he felt as if layers of reality were being peeled away until he at last, in mere seconds later, leveled out just over the base of the tower. He soared over a few hills and rivers, letting a warm breeze carry him, and he banked left until he found a towering structure of pillars, with a spiral staircase coiled around it and bookshelves stretching upward out of sight. Heaven's library was one of the places you could get to in seconds no matter where you were, one of the areas where distance and time sort of bled out into each sector of Heaven. He flew a loop around the building and landed on a platform that was secured to one face of the shelves, his wings folding in as his hand trailed over the edges of old books.

The one thing about the library that seemed like it would be a flaw was that there was no order to the books. Each book had to be shelved in order, of course, but because they were rearranged based on the needs of visitors, nothing was ever in order for long. His hand ran over the spines of ' _The Poetical Works of John Milton_ ,' ' _The Natural History of Staffordshire_ ,' ' _The Journal of Commerce Report of the "Titanic" Inquiry_ ,' ' _The Illiad_ ,' and ' _Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley_ _.'_

Thankfully for those angels wishing to ever actually locate a book, the library could recall books to any point on the shelves. With a touch of his hand to the old, dark wood, Michael requested several books and the ones on the shelf appeared to slide backward, leaving a dark void-like space, only for the books he sought to come to him in their stead. ' _On War_ ,' ' _The Campaigns of Alexander_ ,' ' _Infantry Tactics, 1st Edition_ ,' and ' _The Art of War_ ,' amongst other similar books, piled up in his hands until he held at least seven books against his chest. He jumped from the platform and plummeted down, spreading his wings to land with a slight bend in his legs. He straightened up and walked below a twist in the stairs to a large counter where an angel with tan and brown speckled wings stood, currently browsing a book that lay open in front of them. They seemed engrossed in the reading so Michael cleared his throat.

"I'd like to borrow these," he said, depositing the books down. They blocked his view of the angel he was speaking to until they moved them out of the way, looking at him with nervous fascination.

"Of course, just let me..." They held out a hand, glowing orange and waved it over each of the books. A blank paper on the counter flashed with the names of the books appearing in the same citrus shade, and after a few seconds, the angel slid them back to Michael. "Here you are, then."

He gave them a quick, appreciating nod, then took back the books and took flight again, navigating between two pillars before gaining height in the open air. He soared over ruins being rebuilt and rubble being cleared, all parts of the reconstruction effort after the battle. The war may not yet be over, but Michael was thankful for a reprieve in the middle of things.

The first angelic war had been a constant one. With an archangel as an enemy, who got stronger with the deaths of his soldiers, victory seemed impossible for years. Michael pulled troops from every sector of Heaven and it was only toward the end that he managed to beat his brother in a one on one battle, taking the very essence of flight from his wings and casting him to Earth along with any remaining rebels.

That plan, which had looked so foolproof then, was starting to backfire. Michael on the balcony three below his, entering without knocking. Gabriel was expecting him.

"Where's Uriel?" He asked.

"With Eloriel, I think, checking on her wellbeing. I told him to leave that to Raphael but," Gabriel shrugged, "he was very insistent."

"You..." Michael sighed, "your job is to be insistent. Persuasive. Even to an annoying extent, I'll admit."

"That's only  _part_ of my job. Anyway, I wasn't about to say no. I think he's in one of his moods again, you know? He's doing everything possible to distract himself while complaining that he has too much to do."

"Sounds like him. Well, we can start without him." Michael dropped the stack of books onto the table and the resounding noise caused Gabriel to jump, and Michael winced slightly. He reached out gently and slid the books to Gabriel with an awkward expression, which looked distinctively out of place on the face like Michael's. "Er, here. You take the top four and I'll take the bottom three."

"Oh, you get to do less?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow with a teasing glance.

"You read faster." Michael leaned an arm on the table and cracked open the book. "If you find anything about fighting in places with civilians, let me know."

"Not many civilians in Heaven, dude," Gabriel said, oh-so-helpfully pointing out the obvious. "We got fledglings and soldiers, take your pick."

"It's not Heaven I'm worried about," Michael admitted. Gabriel's head shot up from his book and his wings tucked themselves in more with alarm.

"You mean... Earth?"

"I don't think the rebels can breach our gate again, but I also don't think they're stupid enough to try." Michael glanced out the balcony, "I'll explain more once Uriel gets here."

* * *

 

"I'll be fine with Carow," Samantha told Eloriel, "she can take me to her rooms and she said something about books?"

"My collection!" Carow grinned, "the library is great, don't get me wrong, but it only has things that were officially published by humans, or made public in some way. Ever want to read some scrapped play ideas Shakespeare wrote? Maybe some earlier drafts of  _Common Sense_? I have an entire stack of cuneiform tablets I could translate for you."

Samantha gestured to her talkative friend, "she's very keen on it, as you can see. Don't worry about me, Eloriel."

Eloriel hesitated, but a small smile graced her face and she nodded, walking away from them. "Alright, have fun then, you guys." She turned and met up with Uriel. "So, you said you wanted to talk in private?"

She let Uriel lead her silently to a grove of willows and they flew into the high branches of one, sitting on the branch. The trees were ancient, with towering limbs as thick as several people, twisting outwards until they dropped down into fine points. Tendrils of leaves swayed around the angels and Uriel finally spoke through the quiet.

"I wanted to make sure you're doing alright." 

Eloriel looked down at her hands folded on her lap as if trying to deflect the question. She knew she couldn't avoid the topic forever. "I'm fine," she said quietly and forced herself to look him in the eyes. "I think, anyway. I'm not really sure how I feel but I don't feel bad."

"You feel empty at all?"

"I sort of wish I did. I just want to forget anything ever happened, but I can't, and knowing that I have literally forever to figure it out doesn't help much." She was shocked to find him staring back at her with a gaze of complete understanding.

"It doesn't, does it?" A small smile tugged his lips up at the corners very briefly. "Well, is there anything I can do to help?"

Eloriel groaned, the conversation with Carow from earlier echoing back to her. "Why bother? No offense, Uriel, but you probably have more important things to do, right?" She turned her eyes away from him, "I don't want to keep you busy."

"It's not 'keeping me busy', Eloriel, I'm trying to help you out. As a friend." He shook his head a moment later and stood, balanced on the branch. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

Eloriel was quiet, looking out over the fields. "Pretty sure, yeah." She didn't look behind her as she heard him take off, she only listened to the sound of her breath as she forced it to be calm.  

4,000 years previously, when she was emerging from her years as a fledgling, Heaven had recovered from the war that destroyed early humans some 400,000 years ago. Michael wasn't yet in charge. After Lucifer fell, Metatron stepped up, and he had been running things rather well from behind the scenes. Michael let him. There was a program being formed, not officially, but Michael was helping it get into action. It was a program to send angels from Heaven to Earth, in hopes that a better understanding of humanity would create compassion for them and avoid another war. Eloriel made her way down to earth, spent some time, and only came occasionally back to heaven. Once Michael took charge of heaven after Metatron's whole 'use this Jesus guy to get humans into heaven' backfired on him and his reputation terribly, Eloriel had decided to stay in Heaven. But then Michael announced, after having finalized the heaven/earth exchange program, that he and his brothers would be living on earth for a while. This was something no one could have seen coming. After hundreds of years considering the idea, Eloriel managed once again to be allowed down to earth, where she got a job at a coffee shop and explored the modern world.

 _And everything's been way too confusing ever since_ , she thought, stretching her wings to the side. She stood up and kicked off the branch, Her wings catching the air and the feathers spreading out to glide. Flying on her own was lovely, after so long of flying with Samantha. The woman loved it, and Eloriel didn't mind, but oftentimes she wanted the quiet and carefree bliss that came with soaring on a breeze. Without any extra weight, she hardly had to flap.

She considered heading to her old room in the tower again but decided against it. Flying in a straight line, she traveled as if all her worries were directly behind her, getting farther away. She crossed into another sector of heaven, and then another, passing building and cathedrals until finally, she came to a circle of stones and flowers that seemed to be a recreating of some human monument. In the distance on all sides of her, she could see only trees, grass, and a few untouched buildings. Here, away from the ruin of the battle, she sat, leaning back on the grass with the smell of lilacs perfuming the air, and she closed her eyes against the heat of the sun.

* * *

 

"Alright, spill it." Uriel folded his arms and sat straight on the stool. "What's got you all bothered?"

"This," Michael gestured to his scribbles and notes on the paper in front of them. Uriel squinted and his thoughts were voiced well by Gabriel.

"I can understand a lot, Michael, but that's not one of them."

"Oh, for-" Michael jabbed a finger at a few marking and as he explained, they slowly began to make sense to his brothers. Raphael was with them this time, having finally caught a break from the medical tent. "We outnumber the rebels, but only in heaven. We have no reasonable way to safely bring all our forces to earth right now, and that's where they have fled."

"They got back through the gate?" Raphael didn't try to hide his surprise.

"They didn't need to attempt it, we were stupid enough to chase those we didn't kill right out of it. If we fight on earth, we could still win. They aren't stupid. But I think I've figured out their most likely course of action." He pointed to a sketch of bars and a lock, "they will likely try to trap us in Heaven."

"Why would they do that? They want to live here, right?"

"I thought so too. But some of the rebels were already in heaven living here. No, they don't want to live in heaven, they want to reform it." He looked at his brothers, his face stricken with a solemn desire for them to understand what he was getting at. 

Uriel still didn't understand entirely, "Yeah, so, why even bother keeping everyone here?"

"Because then they can destroy the earth and make their own heaven." Michael's delivery of the line needed no dramatization, jaws hit the floor regardless.

"They can't do that!" Gabriel was outraged, "that isn't even possible, is it? Wouldn't father stop them?"

"That depends. If this is their plan, they would need someone powerful enough to help them. Lucifer is sworn to be neutral, of course, and I know he hated the last war as much as we did. He went against father once and had no plans to do so again." Michael then swore, "I can think of at least one other who's location is unknown, however."

"Metatron," Gabriel said immediately. "Man, I hate that guy! Do you think he's helping the rebels? I thought he found where father went off to and joined him without letting anyone else know!"

Michael had an intense look about him as if pieces were flying into place before him. "No one has any proof of where he is. We all assumed he found the location but what if he left through the gate? I was organizing the exchange program at the time and the gate was undergoing some changes, it's entirely possible he took advantage of that." Michael sighed heavily. "I really hope this isn't the case. But if it is... Let me summarize this. I can tell you're getting bored, Raphael."

"This is not a 'bored' face, it's my resting face."

"Keep telling yourself that. We know the rebels are on earth and do not have the resources to take heaven by force. We know that their objective is basically a... Heaven 2.0, you could say. We also know that Lucifer will not help them, as he prefers to stay out of things. And finally, we also know that the location of Metatron is unknown. Then there are things we can assume. We can assume the rebels will take some action to make new heaven if they cannot change this one. We can assume that if this is the case, they need someone powerful enough and there just so happens to be an angel with that power who no one has heard from in many thousands of years. We can also assume that this would require them to trap us in heaven."

Raphael frowned, "I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Let's say that is their plan, and I agree that it's the most likely. There are so many details we could get wrong. First of all, I doubt the rebels know where Metatron is any more than we do. Unless old Met's gonna seek them out himself, which we really can't assume, it could take them years. Secondly, how would they trap us in heaven and how would they make a new one?"

"With a powerful enough angel-"

"But that's just it." Raphael explained his point rather calmly, "one Metatron against all of us, that's a joke. It would even the odds, to a point, but we would be able to keep control of the gate. He can't lock it."

"He doesn't have to physically lock it," Uriel said. He gestured to the books on the edges of the table, "if these have taught me anything from the hundreds of times I've read them, it's that an opponent can be pressured into action or inaction. If they arrange some way that opening the gates would destroy us, we would have to keep them closed."

"I doubt they could," Gabriel said with a scoff, and Michael flared with angelic energy.

"Do  _not_ let your feelings against Metatron cause you to underestimate him," he warned, static filling the air again. "He is manipulative and clever, don't you forget." The air seemed to calm as Michael relaxed, "the most we can do right now is keep an eye on earth and maybe shift a few more groups of angels down just in case Heaven needs a lockdown of sorts. We can send more spies down, and-"

"How about we go back?" Uriel offered. "I've been here quite a while, I'm kind of missing earth."

Michael tensed, "I... We can't, there's too much to do here. Heaven needs us," he looked at them with an almost pleading look, as if knowing they would object. "A little longer, please, until we sort this out."

His brothers exchanged glances and Uriel spoke for them all a moment later, "fine. What about Samantha, is she staying as well?"

"For the time being."

"I'll keep an eye on her, then," Raphael insisted, "we don't know if being in heaven will have any effect on her health, let alone her soul."

"Please report to me if anything is off with her." Michael gave them all another look and began stacking books, "you can all go, now. Get some rest. Uriel, you have plenty to keep you thinking, so I expect you to sleep on it. Use this as a chance to get some rest, you can't plan when you're tired."

Uriel smiled, genuinely that time, and nodded. "I will. Thank you, Michael."

It was unclear what he was thanking him for. But Michael didn't say anything, he just watched as Uriel flew down from the balcony.

Just a bit longer in Heaven, that was all he needed. Repairs, fixing the communications issues, maintaining the gate, organizing the remaining forces... A little bit longer could turn into, well, a longer bit longer, that Michael knew, but with a tense squaring of his shoulders and his mind made up, he knew that would be necessary for the wellbeing of his home. As for the wellbeing of himself, Michael wasn't as worried. He knew how much he could handle. In the meantime, it seemed like he would be the only one of his brothers not getting some sleep that night.


	18. Communicating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samantha shares her feelings, Captain Masiel receives a mission, and Michael knocks something off his to-do list at last.

Raphael held her hand gently in his own as if afraid he would crush it.  
  
"I don't what to do," Samantha told him. She had found him in the medical tent where he had been taking inventory of remaining supplies. He would have been done days ago if it wasn't for rowdy fledglings using up more bandages than he thought possible. He was now seated on a bed with her, listening to her problem.  
  
"It was clearer than any other dream I've had, and... I was walking into my old home, back when I shared it with Amy, but my nephew was there too. I was going to make a snack for everyone and when I got a tray of cheese and crackers out, I found them..." Samantha's words shook and she took a deep breath. "Her face was blistered and scarred and her son... He was older, a young boy now, and he looked at me but... But his face was different, and I don't know how, but it just looked _wrong_ , and he told me that I wasn't there for him, and he couldn't be alone anymore. And then Amy took my hand but it burned where she touched me and I started screaming and... I woke up." Samantha looked at Raphael with tears in her eyes. "Is this, I don't know, normal? Expected?"  
  
"Samantha, someone skilled as you with nursing should know of nightmares, yes? I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about. I'm not surprised that you have dreams like this at all." Raphael squeezed her hand gently and Samantha nodded to his words.  
  
"Can anything be done?"  
  
He thought quietly and came up empty. "Nothing much, I'm afraid. Er, there is a therapy group for the fledglings who were part of the first attack, when the rebels breached the gates and took Heaven by surprise. Perhaps you could join it?"  
  
"I'm not sure how well angel therapy will work out for me," Samantha said with a weak smile, "but... I'll give it a shot." She stood up and Raphael handed her a glass of water. She accepted it and drank in large gulps, nearly spilling water down her chin. "Thank you," she said with a small gasp as she finished, handed the glass back to him. Raphael set it on a nearby stool and handed her something else, a piece of paper with some writing on it Samantha couldn't understand. It glowed green and she looked from the paper to Raphael, confused.  
  
"This will clear things up with the manager of the therapy group," he explained, "in case they question why a mortal is in a gathering of angels, you know."  
  
Samantha smiled, surprised by the thoughtfulness of her friend. She looked down at her hands, her mind slipping back to her dreams, but Raphael interrupted her.  
  
"How are things going with Eloriel? Has she been helping you?"  
  
"She, uh, she's been busy actually, talking to Michael a lot. Carow's been a big help though, she's been keeping everyone at bay. I've been asked from rather strange questions, and some of them I'd rather not answer, or don't have an answer for." Samantha squeezed between a stack of wood pallets and a ladder, the corridor between beds being frequently obstructed by the items that Raphael had been taking notes of.  
  
"And how are you aside from the nightmares?" Raphael asked. Samantha froze and for a moment Raphael thought she would leave without answering. He saw the way her eyes fixed upon the exit like she wanted nothing more than to avoid the topic of herself. But at last, she spoke.  
  
"I just can't wait to return to Earth," she admitted. "I mean, I don't even know my nephew's name, I didn't get a chance. It's been weeks, Raphael, and I'm tired. I don't belong here."  
  
"If it's any comfort, time is passing faster in Heaven than on Earth. It's not supposed to, of course, but that's how it's mean since my father left and no one's been able to fix it. It's only been... Maybe a few days on Earth? I have no way to let you know for sure, but I know it hasn't been that long."  
  
"It's been long enough for my sister to start searching for me, I bet," Samantha said, her tone bitter. Raphael knew she resented having to stay in Heaven, but he hadn't quite guessed at how much. It was startling to see Samantha in this way.  
  
"I'll just head back, then," she said, walking again to the exit, "to the Tower."  
  
"Need a lift?" Raphael asked, unsure how she planned to get back.  
  
"No," Samantha said firmly, "I can walk. It only takes, like, 20 minutes, and I thought that it would be most of the day but... This place- Heaven- isn't really limited by things like time of day, is it? Somehow day and night sort of blends together and I don't feel like I've wasted time at all." She sighed, "I need the exercise anyway, can't rely entirely on being flown about." She vanished from his sight behind a shelf of sheets, and Raphael felt strangely alone.

* * *

 

Masiel knew she would be in for a lot when she became a captain. But this was not something she had prepared for, nor anticipated when she was called to the Battle Hall to receive an assignment from Uriel.  
  
"You want me to what?" She raised a brow and felt the purple network of veins under her skin pop out slightly not in anger, but surprise.  
  
"Search for the Archangel Metatron. We have reason to believe that he is residing on Earth, instead of with our father. You will be given a group of 5,000 angels for the task to lead as you will."  
  
Masiel nearly swayed on her feet, a bit confused. "So he didn't go to Father, he went to Earth? Why would he-"  
  
"Captain Masiel," Uriel began, his tone sharper than it had been before. "I am assigning you a task and I expect you to start as soon as possible. Michael is bringing your soldiers to the gates as I speak. I suggest you go meet them there."  
  
Masiel nodded quickly, her wings already reaching out to take flight. "Right. I will, sir."  
  
"And Masiel," he added, making her pause, "I want you to visit this place," he handed her a small slip of paper that had an address written on it, "and when you come back I expect a report on the wellbeing of the people living there. I also want their names."  
  
Masiel accepted the paper. She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, turned, and flew for the gates.  
  
The ground rushed by her in a blur and she focused on the beat of her wings in her peripheral vision to keep her from dizzying. With a sudden sensation that was a mix of a lurching and the sway of a boat, she found herself at the gates, descending over a group of angels to where Michael stood, waiting.  
  
She beat her wings in a flurry to right herself and land carefully, then she crossed her arms behind her back and stood up straight, waiting to be addressed.  
  
"Did Uriel explain your task?"  
  
"Yes, sir, he did."  
  
"Excellent. The gate has been set to place you in Denver, Colorado. This should provide a decent point from which to spread over America, and the search can then be taken to other countries if needed."  
  
"And will we be hidden from the mortals, sir? Our wings, I mean."  
  
Michael was slow to answer, so Masiel was quick to clarify.  
  
"I mean, er, the human Samantha here, she can see our wings, so, what if someone else can?"  
  
"The humans will not be able to see your wings," Michael told her. He didn't project confidence, but the energy Masiel could feel around him let her know, without a doubt, that he was growing annoyed.  
  
"Right, of course, sir." She made her way to the front of the group.  
  
"When you locate Metatron, you are not to engage him. Return to Denver and we will open the gate up again for your return." Michael said, placing his hand on a large panel of what looked like glass. His hand glowed silver, and the 'glass' lit up blue as if it were hotter than a star. Even the angels present had to look away, save for Michael. The panel seemed to expand into a large doorway about the size of a large barn door, and the light emitted from it twisted and danced enticingly in front of them, now gentle enough to be looked at. Michael turned to Masiel and his eyes were alight with the same silvery blue.  
  
"Good luck, Masiel," he said in a voice that rumbled with energy.  
  
Masiel kept her mouth shut now, and instead lifted her hand. Waving it forward, she led the group of angels to the gate, knowing that it was made of light and nothing more, thus she could pass into it.  
  
"I won't let you down," she told Michael.  
  
She stepped into the light.

* * *

 

Samantha couldn't help but sigh, forcing back her frustration. She had expected this, really, and Raphael had as well. "Raphael told me-"  
  
"Raphael told you?" He scoffed, his arms folding and his wings protruding out more, the pale blue streaked with gold only intimidating due to his scowl that seemed to overshadow them. "Right, I'm sure."  
  
"He did," Samantha explained, holding out the paper he had given her. "He gave me this, to give to you."  
  
The angel snatched it from her hand and brought it up to read. Tracing a finger over the text, it pulsed with light and he bit his lip hesitantly.  
  
"Fine," he decided, handing it back to her. "Proceed inside. The leader of the conversation is Imaris, she's the one with the dark brown wings."  
  
"Thank you," Samantha told him, determined to keep her manners even when the angel she spoke to was rude beyond belief. She went through the large wooden doors, pressed a hand on the flowers carved into the front and pushing them open. The smell of peaches was overwhelming for a moment until she adjusted, and she looked around immediately.  
  
Before even noticing the angels in the room, she saw the tapestries on the wall that depicted galaxies and constellations. The stars woven in them seemed to emit a light of there own, and Samantha could barely look away from them. When at last she managed to tear her gaze from the fabric, she saw a stained glass window that filtered red and blue light over the room, the scene shown to be an angel with an armful of flowers. The room was peaceful, and Samantha could understand right away why it had been chosen to hold a therapeutic meeting.  
  
But then she saw the angels within. More specifically, she saw the children.  
  
Fledglings, she reminded herself, as these beings were certainly not like any human child she had seen. It wasn't even the wings that set them apart entirely, it was their expressions. It was the weariness that Samantha saw on some of her old college friends, not a kid who was the angelic equivalent of 12 years old, or however old they were. They were saddened, tired, and some of them sat in chairs in stared blankly into space as if an invisible barrier was encompassing their every sense.  
  
A hand landed on her shoulder and Samantha jumped, turning, and looked right into a set of three eyes. So this angel was a bit like Carow, then, she guessed. Her eyes flickered past the head of the angels and saw the wings, a chocolate color that would blend well into the trees of a forest.  
  
"Are you Imaris?" She asked, already holding out the paper. It was a bit creased from how tightly she had grasped it, so she spread it out a little. The angel plucked it gently from her hand.  
  
"I am," she said, her voice warm and welcoming. Samantha decided that chocolate was a comparison far more fitting than tree bark. "You must be Samantha." She barely looked at the note, already leading Samantha to a seat, and the second thing Samantha decided was that she liked this angel a lot more than Mr. Rude (she hadn't bothered to ask his name) she had encountered early.  
  
"We're about to begin, just sit tight, dear. I'll go check with Tamrael if we're to expect anyone else." As she twisted away, the long yellow-orange skirt she wore twirled behind her and Samantha was distracted by it. Was the fabric even made of thread, or was it like some sort of gemstone brought to life? If honey could be made into fabric, it would look exactly like Imaris' skirt. The same could be said for her hair, long brown-orange locks that flowed smoothly down her back and hung about her thighs.  
  
When Imaris left her line of sight, Samantha looked to the angels around her and noticed them staring. She looked back down to avoid their gaze and picked at the dirt under her fingernail. When was the last time she had been clean- or felt like it, really? She would have to ask Eloriel or Carow if there were showers somewhere in Heaven. There had to be showers, right? With Imaris having hair like that, Samantha had a hard time believing that Heaven would have anything but angelic-quality shampoo and conditioner.  
  
Imaris whirled back into sight, her wings fluttering a bit, and sat in a chair across from Samatha. The circle of seats had filled up, and she cleared her throat.  
  
"Welcome, everyone. This is the first session of the therapeutic discussions put in place to... Help you all understand and come to terms with what has happened. We will begin with introductions. When it's your turn, please state your name, age or rounded age if it is above 100, and any additional fact about you that you wish to share." Imaris motioned to the angel seated at her right. "Why don't you begin?"  
  
"My name is Sumrel, I'm 'round 130. Er, I'm really just here for the sake of my friend who wouldn't shut up until I agreed." She shrugged, looking at Imaris as if to check that she did alright.  
  
"It's good to meet you, Sumrel. And who are you?" She directed the question to the next angel in the circle, one that only had one working wing. The other one hung limply at their side.  
  
"I'm Osren, I'm 67, and... And I like swimming." Their eyes weren't unfocused, rather, they darted around the room rapidly, not even lingering on Samantha as the others did.  
  
The next few angels introduced themselves. There was a red-headed angel with silver wings (Like Eloriel's, Samantha thought, but darker) and a shy personality. His name was Axrel, and he was only 31 years old. There was Janric (120), Fyrael (110), and Olna (47), and then, at last, it was Samantha's turn to introduce herself.  
  
She tried to tell herself that surely this wasn't as stressful as nursing school.  
  
She knew that was a lie.  
  
"My name is Samantha, I'm 43 years old. I'm not actually an angel, but I can see wings and I'm not sure why to be quite honest. Um, I helped a bit on spying missions before I was brought to Heaven and I helped a bit in the medical tent during the battle. I'm just here because... The stuff I saw, it wasn't really... I don't think my mind is meant to really handle that..." She trailed off and while the angel next to her was talking, she noticed that her hand was clenched into a fist. She uncurled her fingers, rubbing at the red crescents in her palm. Rubbing at it stung a bit, but she pressed her finger into her hand harder until the sensation faded. Then she was back to nervously picking non-existent dirt from under her fingernail.  
  
_Back to the old nervous tics, Samantha,_ she scolded herself. _Come on, you have nothing to be nervous about._  
  
Not even she could believe that. Even her own thoughts had tones of doubt.  
  
"You all have seen things that haven't happened in hundreds of thousands of years. Most angels, before the recent battle, couldn't imagine combat no matter how much they trained." Imaris took a deep breath, continuing with a slight change of topic. "Speaking of training, how many of you trained for combat before the battle?"  
  
Seven angels raised their hands. Samantha recognized Sumrel, Janric, and Fyrael, but she hadn't been paying attention when the others introduced themselves. Imaris nodded and the hands lowered.  
  
"Do you feel like it prepared you at all for what happened?"  
  
"A little," Janric said. Deep purple hair that looked nearly black, like the glossy feathers of some corvid, curved around his face in a rather feminine style- not that angels really adhered to any binaries, Samantha knew. "I mean, I was able to fight, but because I wasn't actively training at the time, I didn't have a weapon with me. I was in the gardens near the gate and the only thing I really had was a fence post."  
  
"I had a weapon," Sumrel interjected, "I had... Taken a dagger from the Battle Hall. I know, I shouldn't have, but I was really nervous about everything and it made me feel better. I... I feel worse about that than anything else, really, is that... Okay?" She narrowed her eyes at Imaris as if daring the angel to say that it wasn't.  
  
"You're focusing on the emotion of guilt over any more complicated emotions, I think that's more than justified. By stressing that feeling, your mind can be distracted from more complex and possible difficult recollections with more ease."  
  
Samantha immediately took notice. Had she not been doing the same thing? Just that morning she sought Raphael out due to her nightmares, actively tried to avoid discussing her experiences, and then walked 20 minutes back to the towers just to be able to focus solely on the movement and nothing else.  
  
She quickly made up her mind to listen to everything Imaris said.  
  
Maybe Raphael had a point, sending her here.

* * *

 

 

The desk was covered in papers. Most of them needed signatures of some sorts, some needed to be read over, others were simply drafts of a bigger work that had yet to be revised. Writing of varying colors popped out from the pages, each kind containing the unique trace of the angels that wrote it. Enochian script flowed, line after line, sometimes written not right to left, but top to bottom or left to right. It wasn't a very organized system, but the angels who were writing such documents seemed determined to fit as much information on the paper as possible, scrawling text right into the margins.

  
Michael's mind was swimming and his eyes were nearly crossed with fatigue. He was never one to care much about his own wellbeing, not when Heaven needed so much work, but even he could recognize that he needed a break.  
  
His arms stiff from leaning against the desk for so long, he finished the sentence he was writing and set down the feather, the blue light from the end of it settling into the paper. He shuffled the papers into a neater pile, shoved a few to the side to create a scene that at least resembled organization to some extent, not that the arrangement of the piles made any more sense than they had before.  
  
He stood, pushing back the stool and making his way to the balcony, managing to avoid knocking over a stack of books (something he was guilty of doing on multiple occasions). Dragging the stool behind him, he set it on the smooth marble that jutted out from the side of the tower, and he sat upon it with his arms leaning over the railing.  
  
In the distance, the repairs were finishing. Michael wasn't foolish enough to believe that the buildings would stay in such a state, of course, and had decided that the repairs would be done with minimal materials, as lightweight- and preferably as fire-proof -as possible. And with the thought of fire, his eyes drifted to the burnt patches of ground in the distance. Only several small scraps of land could be seen with lingering burns, as small blue flowers and creeping moss had already reclaimed most of the battlefield. Michael had heard rumors drifting up from the angels that if you weren't careful when walking, your foot could go right into a body that the moss had covered before it could be found.  
  
The dust in the sky that had been lingering for so long, and not aided by construction, was finally retreating on the wind. Other sectors of heaven were dealing with it now, of course, one by one as the dust dispersed and settled. Michael had been receiving letters and visits from all sorts of upset angels. He had thought- hoped- that the inhabitants of Heaven would be pleased by the victory. He now knew that it was stupid to think that way. Of course, everyone was happy after the First War, because of what was at risk, and how the loss of angelic life justified that.

It did here as well, although they couldn't see it. Michael didn't understand, and that frustrated him to no end. Did they not see how he had risked his own life leading the aerial charge, as he had all those thousands of years ago?  
  
Michael's eyes widened and he stopped paying any attention to the surroundings. Of _course_ , they didn't see him risking his life. Because in their eyes, he hadn't.  
  
_I don't think they realize that I can die,_ Michael thought, shocking even himself. He was well aware that he was more powerful than the other angels of the Host. He was the first created by God, Prince of Angels, Commander of the Host of Heaven.  
  
The other angels were aware of that as well, but Michael doubted that most of them knew what it entailed.  
  
_I'm not invulnerable, for Heaven's sake! Do they think I can just come out of a battle with barely a scratch?_  
  
Michael had to remind himself that so far, the angels had no reason to think otherwise. But how was he to convince them? Most of the angels were intimidated by him (which was his own fault, really) or just not able to voice their opinion very well. He suspected that was simply angelic nature. However... there is one angel he could think of who may be able to help.  
  
Michael went back through the gilded archway of the balcony, abandoning the stool behind him as instead, he hunched over his desk, grabbing the deep blue feather from its place to the side and writing another letter. This one he wrote in English as opposed to Enochian, as the latter was not well suited for detailed requests so much as it was for writing songs and battle tactics. Between the flowery language and the brutal sort, Enochian lacked a middle ground with which to casually converse. English, then, is what he chose to use.  
  
_Eloriel,_  
  
_I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Please come to my rooms as soon as you can. Keep this letter on your person so you may access them._  
  
_\- Michael_  
  
Michael wrote a line of Enochian at the bottom. Gabriel had always been better with it than him, but he was still able to imbue the words with the energy that would let them grant Eloriel passage to his rooms.  
  
**_UMADEA, ODO. OGI GEDON, OALI ZONRENSG ZIMII. TORZU_.** (Tower, open. With this holy speech, I have delivered you have entered. Arise.)  
  
Michael hadn't yet gotten to dealing with the mess that the Communications system was in, which had been nearly collapsed by the rebels, so he knew he would have to deliver the letter another way. Luckily, corresponding with others already in Heaven was far easier. He made sure that the paper had Eloriel's name on the front, then placed it upon a small wooden shelf by his desk. The letter winked out of sight, and Michael knew that it was now on a shelf in Eloriel's room. He hoped she was there, of course, but he knew she would see it eventually. He could afford to be patient when it suited him.  
  
_That's enough of a break,_ he told himself, although he hadn't taken much of a break at all. He went back out to fetch the stool and dragged it back as if his subconscious was ever so reluctant to work.  
  
Michael ignored his subconscious and pulled a stack of papers towards him.

* * *

 

Carow did what she had always done when stressed: She read.  
  
She was currently deep into an old ledger of purchases from a traveling merchant who roamed various towns in the early 1200s. It had been given to her by one of the older angels who helped run the library, and she had added it to her collection soon as she returned. The text itself wasn't really interesting, truth be told. In fact, the merchant who wrote it seemed more interested in how much food he bought for his horses than anything he sold, which she supposed was fair. The things he had in his stock were strange as well. From what she read, she concluded that he sold mainly carrots and rough cloth.  
  
_If he was so concerned with what his horse ate, he shouldn't have sold all his carrots,_ she thought, closing the book. She was a bit concerned, but not because the book was boring. Rather, she was concerned because she was bored.  
  
Carow rarely got bored. Most things could hold her attention indefinitely. She once spent several days without sleep reading through every work of Shakespeare, published and unpublished. She read drafts to books, recipes, scripts, and board game instructions. She would get lost in the library until weeks had passed without her notice. But she _never_ got bored of it, and she could engage in just about anything.  
  
Until now. She was restless, her foot tapping against the ground and her hand idly combing through her hair. Her hand flickered up occasionally as if her wrist went loose out of her control for a moment. She huffed and stamped one foot, forcing it to stop moving. Standing up from the stool beside her bed, she returned the ledger to the pile of books across the room and wove through the stacks of hardcover books on the floor.  
  
It had been, what, two weeks from the battle? Carow sighed and felt lost in her thoughts again. She took comfort in that feeling. When she was thinking too hard to notice anything else, she could stop moving and start focusing on whatever her mind showed her. She was never really in control of it, but then, she hadn't felt in control of anything lately.  
  
It had been easier during the battle if anything. She wasn't in control there, either, but she at least had directions to follow. The order to bank right would be passed down through the rows and she would fight that way along with the others.  
  
Her hand clenched briefly, but besides that, she was still.  
  
She slipped back in her memories, caught up in thoughts of the war. They didn't scare her or cause her the stress that she thought they would. Any reasonable angel, she thought, would probably shut those memories aside and never look at them again. But Carow replayed them constantly, and she relished in them. She could envision the way her sword cut down and to the right to block someone, and then swung around as her whole body lunged forward, pushing it to her target. Then her mind caught her up in visions of her training, her muscles moving into each position as Uriel called out the stances. She began to do so now, lunging and thrusting the sword, and then stepping back with it raised upwards, like an elaborate dance in which each partner had their life held in the balance.  
  
She was thrown out of the moment when she bumped into a stack of books.  
  
"Wait, no-" she cut off her sentence and watched helplessly as the books collapsed.  
  
_I should pick those up,_ she thought. _They won't move by themselves and certainly aren't any help, lying on the floor. I just have to pick them up._  
  
Carow experienced a feeling stranger than she had on the battlefield, or afterward when she felt like she could drown in adrenaline. She felt physically stuck, but it was not her body that was indecisive, it was her brain. She knew that those books should be picked up. It wasn't really like she didn't want to, and there was nothing else she had to do just then.  
  
But the other part of her mind, some area of it that she was barely aware of, fought against that notion, against every bit of her willpower. She remained still, and then, her hand twitched. It seemed like despite her body not moving, and her brain not deciding, her limbs had a mind of there own.  
  
_Just pick them up,_ she thought again, weakly protesting to herself.  
  
Her hand tapped her thigh, slow at first, but speeding up until the _taptaptaptaptap_ filled her ears.  
  
She clenched her hand again and turned her back to the books. Her wings spread out, wings that she had never been fond of until they carried her from death more than once. They were rather drab, in her opinion, the gray color of them fading to speckled black at the tips. But they were hers, as hers as the memories she had and the books strewn over the floor. She gave them a few flaps as she emerged onto the balcony and she knew that if she stayed inside any longer she'd be driven crazy by the need to move. She beath them downward hard as she jumped a good many feet into the air, her shoulders tensing briefly as she struggled to gain altitude. But at least, she knew, she was moving.

* * *

 

Eloriel, still clenching the paper in her fingers, landed on Michael's balcony. She first noticed that it was a lot nicer than hers, in terms of aesthetic. The marble archway leading her inside was decorated in swirls of gold that ran through it like veins in a wrist, branching off and wrapping around. Small floating lights, the kind that usually bobbed a few meters off the ground, danced above her almost playfully, sending several shadows of her falling in multiple directions. Eloriel folded in her wings and knocked on the side of the door.

"Michael?" She noticed that she had pronounced his name in it's more formal tone, pronounced as _Mike-ay-el_ , but she hadn't intended to.  
  
"Come in, Eloriel."  
  
She entered slowly, almost irrationally scared that she would break something despite the tidiness of the room. Her anxiety at such a possibility heightened when all thoughts of tidiness left, her eyes falling briefly upon the desk.  
  
"I'm in the living room," she heard, and she went through another vaulted doorway. Michael was seated on a stool with a thin back, allowing room for his wings to spread out. The couch was opposite him, and he motioned for Eloriel to have a seat. She did.  
  
"A certain problem has come to my attention." He leaned forward with his hands clasped on his knees. Eloriel's gut twisted as her first reaction was that she was in trouble. What had she done? Her mind began racing back, replaying the last few days in her head-  
  
"A problem that I think you can help me solve," he continued, and Eloriel snapped from her mental goose-chase.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The angels are becoming restless. I thought the victory would appease them for longer. I was wrong, or at least, I made an error in my assumption." He leaned back again. "I think that the odds against which we won- near overwhelming odds- are overlooked. That most angels are taking this victory for granted, in a slightly different sense of the word. Does any of this sound correct to you?"  
  
Eloriel thought carefully, now. "I suppose so. I haven't spoken to the other angels as much, er, the Cherubim still dislike me for whatever reason, but the general consensus I think they've come to is that you, Gabriel, and Raphael were so busy on Earth that you only just managed to make it in time to ensure victory. They understand the odds of the battle just fine, but they resent your lack of involvement."

"Lack of- I've been working non-stop to ensure Heaven's safety!" Michael ran a hand through his hair.

"I know that," Eloriel said quickly, "and I don't really know what to say, I mean, that is what I've been picking up on."

Michael was silent for a while, and Eloriel was a touch startled when he spoke. "Thank you, Eloriel, you've helped me. One more thing, then. How's Samantha doing? Is she handling things okay?"

"Uh... I heard some angels talking this morning, apparently she's attending the fledgling therapy group, run by Imaris. I don't know if it's doing any good, though, you'll have to talk to her."

"Right." Michael sighed. Inwardly, he grumbled.  _I don't have time to talk to her! I barely have time to sleep!_ But out loud he smiled. "That's all, then, Eloriel. Thank you for coming. Oh, I'll take the paper I sent you." He held out a hand and Eloriel put it in. With a few whispered words of his, the paper burst into a white flame and then vanished. Eloriel gave him a parting smile, going once more to the balcony, and diving off it.

Michael walked past the study to his planning room, which had a large table upon which was a map of the central area of Heaven, where an attack was most likely to take place. Covering it now, however, was a large sheet of paper that had marking over it. Michael strolled past these and to the wall, where a belt had a sword attached. He kept his weapons in his room, the safest place for them to be. And while he wasn't paranoid enough to warrant bringing his sword- the flaming one- with him wherever he went, he would definitely bring it with him when he went to the Center of Communications. 

The Center of Communications was a large round building that looked a bit like a silver can of cat food, if you squinted and ignored the ivy and vines creeping over the place. It was situated to the right of the gates (looking upon the gates from the perspective of Heaven) and it was in charge not only maintaining the Enochian language (similar to earthly languages, new words had to be added on occasion as needed) but also correspondence from Heaven to Earth and the other way around. If it wasn't for the Communications, Uriel would have never been able to update his brothers on the status of training like he had done only weeks okay before the battle. 

Michael still couldn't believe that it had been only a few weeks. Maybe it had been a year and he hadn't noticed? Time was always a bit strange in Heaven, but as much as he wanted to believe it had been longer, he doubted it. He took a moment to send a message to Gabriel, whose help he would likely need, just before he left.

Upon his arrival, Michael waved a glowing blue hand in front of the metal doors and they slid open. He entered and came to face security.

 _Oh, so_ now _they have security,_ he thought in a mocking tone, as much as one could have when it came to thoughts.

"I need to speak to the Head of Communications," Michael said, not waiting to hear what the angel had to say. 

The angel, blatantly nervous, stuttered out a response that had probably had its importance impressed onto his mind somehow. "Er... Identification?" He held out a piece of paper and a plain white feather. The question, of course, was rather pointless in this case.

The normal response to that question would to channel one's angelic energy through the feather to write one's name. Michael, however, was far too tired for this- having not properly slept in weeks- and he  _really_ wanted to have a word with whoever was in charge here. He unsheathed his sword from his side and with a single thought, blue fire engulfed it.

"I need to speak to the Head of Communications," he said again, more firm this time. The angel nearly dropped the paper, but quickly pressed his hand to a small panel similar to the one that Michael used to open the gates of Heaven. It glowed light pink before the second door opened. Michael didn't wait a moment, replacing his sword and walking through the sterile white halls. The place was surprisingly empty. Michael had been expecting far more angels to be walking about, but perhaps with the reconstruction efforts drawing to a close, having more angels wasn't as necessary.

Two doors to his right were labeled  _Enochian Database_ and  _Library Book List_. Michael didn't want to even begin imagining what kind of list would be in that room, and knowing that the list required it's own room gave him an idea of the size. Turning to his left, he found two more doors.  _Dorms_ , likely for angels who chose to live on site, and  _Main Control Center_. He entered the latter.

The room was round, in the center of the building. One way glass on the ceiling let in light, which allowed Michael to see the rows of desks, at which sat many angels who were all writing on long strips of paper that fed into slots on the ground. Michael knew that on the level below this, the papers were sorted properly. Some things written may be book titles, some may end up in the Archive... The Center of Communications helpfully doubled as a center for information of nearly any sort.

Michael cleared his throat and began to walk through the center aisle. He spoke loud, in a clear voice.

"Hello everyone."  _Sorry to interrupt_ , he thought, but the word didn't make it past his lips. The angels at the desks who were now pulled from their concentration all looked up at him before standing as he was.

"I have a few things to go over with you once the right people show up." He looked behind him to the large desk that was centered at the front of the room. The angel there had large yellow eyes and tan wings behind him with feathers that seemed rather bedraggled for an angel who didn't fight in the battle. "You must be the Head of Communications."

"Amristin." A voice called from behind Michael, who was a bit shocked to be interrupted. But there were very few angels who  _would_ interrupt him, and he knew that his message had been received.

"Gabriel," he said, turning around. His brother smiled towards him, charming as ever. Michael had no idea how the battle had affected him, mostly because he legitimately couldn't tell. Gabriel hadn't spoken about it much, and aside from the occasional burst of frustration, his brother seemed to be nearly his usual self. "You got my message. Good." He cast his gaze over the assembled angels. Gabriel had gathered those from the rest of the building, and there were roughly 40 angels in the room aside from the three of them standing up front.

"I'd like to address an important issue. One of Heavenly Security." He let a few seconds pass by, making eye contact with every angel he could. "Before the battle, there were  _20,000_ rebel angels in Heaven already, and they had communication with the rebels on Earth. This building was infiltrated." He turned to Amristin. "Were there any new angels admitted entry in the weeks or months before the fight?"

Amristin motioned to an angel with pink wings, the same one that had given Michael access to the building. "Lonzael has a list of everyone."

The angel Lonzael opened a hand and a piece of paper appeared. He ran his finger over it and glanced up, his eyes peering over the top of the paper. "The angels Kyrania, Callensel, Roweniel, and Fornen were all employed shortly before the war. The angel Fornen has been marked as deceased."

"Bring the other three up here, then," Michael declared.

"I thought the angels working here were excluded from the battle," Gabriel told Michael.

"They were. Fornen must have been a rebel. It sounds like he got what he deserved." Michael nodded approvingly. "Regardless, I doubt there was only one rebel." He looked at the three angels who had been brought before him and grew silent.

_I ought to make an example of this. But there is a chance that the rebels had already been working here for a while- No, it would have to be angels who recently turned on Heaven. If they only lost a few feathers to start with, that would be easy enough to hide._

With a pleasant realization, Michael noted that he also had a way to check for where their loyalties lay. He first went to Roweniel, who had deep brown hair and eyes like an owl, large round pupils inside an amber iris. Without a word, he grabbed her right wing and gently stretched it out, checking first the front, then the back. She watched him carefully, her head rotated to follow his movements. He crossed over and she helpfully extended her other one for him. Michael checked it as well and then nodded.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Roweniel. You may rejoin the crowd." 

She walked back into the group of angels and Michael moved on to the next one. Callensel looked at him with a nervous look and Michael paused, expecting him to extend his wings as well. He did not. With a small, nearly invisible shrug, Michael stepped forward to do it himself when Callensel swung his wing at him before attempting to  _fly over the crowd_ , not managing well in the small space. Michael reacted at once, leaping after him, and had much more success flying than Callensel did due to the crowd parting for him. He saw a dash of orange wings and hurled after it, much faster than the fleeing angel. One hand reaching out, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and wrapped an arm around his neck tightly enough to constrain him, and with his other hand, he drew his sword and brandished it against the angel's back, between his wings.

 _"Move,"_ he told Callensel, half-dragging him back into the atrium. Gabriel was waiting there with Kyrania pinned to the floor, crouching with his hands pinning her's behind her back.

"She tried to get away as well," he told his brother, picking her back up. "Say, could I borrow your knife?" When Michael nodded, he pulled it from the other side of his belt. "Leave it to you to carry multiple weapons at once," he muttered.

"And you don't?" Michael shot back quietly. He spoke louder to the angel in his grasp. "Would you care to cooperate this time?" The flames on it extinguished now, he pressed the tip of his sword to Callensel's back. He did, in fact, cooperate, and his wings opened. Michael jerked his chin in the direction of Amristin. "Check his wings."

The Head of Communications approached, checking the dark, moss-green wings. He finally indicated an area and reached forward, easily ripping away a chunk of feathers with little effort. They appeared to have been glued down onto the wing. Callensel lowered his head, knowing he was done for.

"That does it then," Michael said. "Gabriel, if you would?" They switched placed, Michael holding Kyrania and Gabriel taking Callensel. He spoke Enochian under his breath quietly, and paper-like bindings flowed directly out of his mouth (startling some of the angels in the crowd) and wrapped around Callensel. Once he was bound securely, Gabriel walked over to Kyrania and she brought her wings out to each side as well. As they had before, they found signs of rebellion on her as well. Gabriel repeated his words, and she was bound as well.

"I'll bring them-" he glanced around and Michael knew that neither of them trusted anyone in the room fully. "Somewhere safe." By  _safe_ , he likely meant one of the lower floors of the Battle Hall, or just one of the many buildings around Heaven that weren't populated but could easily be guarded. He raised a hand and the Enochian markings on the bindings flared blue-green, raising the two angels into the air. Gabriel left with them in tow, and Michael remained to address the group.

"Thank you all for your cooperation in this. Amristin, I'd like to speak to you privately."

They gathered in his office and Michael sat down across from him. "I want to discuss this topic a bit further with you. First of all, I intend to work further with you to fix the Communications, as I know the security of sent messages has to be patched up more. Secondly, I want you to keep an eye out for further suspected rebels. Check everyone's wings, if you must. What happened several months ago-" he went by Heaven-time, "-must not happen again. If you suspect someone, alert me or Gabriel immediately."

"I will, sir," Amristin told him with a nod. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Have a good day, Amristin, thank you again." Michael got up, checked that he had his sword (and recalled that Gabriel still had his knife) and left the building, passing Lonzael as he went.

He could check that off his list, then, but he still had a lot to do. First of all, however, he intended to go find Samantha. It wasn't until Eloriel told him that she was starting  _fledgling_ _therapy_ that he realized how hard a time she must be having. Being a mortal in Heaven... That couldn't be easy. He resolved to have a talk with her. Perhaps he could send her back to Earth early if needed, or maybe send her down with Carow and Eloriel to start making plans for Earth.

He realized that, in accordance with his own train of thought, he somehow put Eloriel down as someone who could reliably make plans. He remembered telling her long ago that she was better suited as a spy, not as a fighter.

But was she a planner as well? He couldn't think of any definite proof. He trusted Uriel with planning, he knew that Gabriel could be trusted so long as he kept personal biases out of the way, and he could even trust Raphael to organize a course of action.

It was in a state of puzzlement that Michael returned to his rooms, wondering: Why did he trust her so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so I update, after nearly 2 months.  
> My apologies for the wait.  
> On the other hand, I'm pretty happy about getting out a near 8k word chapter!  
> Thanks for reading! <3


	19. New Occurrences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samantha gets some answers, Masiel has some questions on the hunt for Metatron, Michael pieces together a bit more of the puzzle, and Eloriel encounters a new and confusing development.

It had been a month since the battle of Heaven, and Eloriel was starting to relax a bit more. After their fight about trust, Carow hadn't been near her a lot, but Eloriel didn't mind all too much. She could use the space.

Right now, she was in Sector 57 of Heaven. Each sector was a large hexagon of land, arranged spiraling outwards from Sector 1, which housed buildings like the main library and the Residential Tower.

There were several towers in many sectors, of course, all for residents of Heaven, but the one in Sector 1 was  _the_ Residential Tower, similar to how  _the_ park in New York most likely refers to Central Park. It was also the tower that the Archangels resided in. Similarly, many libraries existed in Heaven, but the library in Sector 1 was  _the_ library.

During the war, Michael only called angels from the surrounded area up to Sector 50. This had been enough. Because angels are very social, most live in a sector close to another populated one. So although Heaven expanded infinitely, and there was likely a Sector 10,425 if anyone cared to find it, most angels only populated the sectors up to around Sector 200.

Following the first battle, in an attempt to recruit more angels into the Host's forces, the three captains remaining in Heaven were sent out to train angels in the sectors up to Sector 85, and with them, they brought several volunteers to help them instruct. The angel Eloriel currently was watching had 4 wings, speckled in green, gold, and white. Captain Amiel. He was accompanied by six other angels, none of whom Eloriel recognized.

Amiel was currently instructing a group of angels how to use both spears and swords. Those with a tendency to favor one over the other would train solely with that weapon, whereas those with proficiency for neither would be instructed in the use of more rarely used weapons, like maces, axes, or twin daggers. She saw one of the volunteers with a large ax, demonstrating how it cleaved through a log. Another was showing a way to throw a sword properly, a technique that really only worked if it was one of few blades that could return to your hand, but could also come handy in a life-or-death situation.

Eloriel herself was on the edge of a cliff overlooking the rolling green hills below. She could see no fledglings in the group, and she was relieved that they had been excluded. Having more time on their hands allowed more angels to be trained, which meant that the younger ones could be left aside. Michael evidently realized that quickly as well.

She squinted upward into the sun, briefly wondering how it was that it could be seen in Heaven just as it was seen on Earth. Her best explanation was that it was a sun of its own, which would explain why it never really left the sky, only dipped down just out of sight and rose back up. Heaven never had nights like Earth did, only dark times like that of twilight or dusk, when the sky and ground were lit by floating dots of light. 

Several of those small dots danced by her on the breeze, and Eloriel caught one easily. They weren't like fireflies, actively avoiding capture, and in fact, sometimes gathered around any hand that was outstretched to them. Eloriel closed her hand around it and smiled as it tickled her palm gently with warmth. She released it and continued her observation.

Perhaps her ability to sit still and wait was what made her an asset, back on Earth- She spent plenty of time waiting for Samantha to finish gathering intel, or even keeping watch herself discreetly. But here in Heaven, she couldn't really figure out why she held further importance.

She knew that the archangels were, dare she say it, her friends. And she knew that she was the angel who best knew Samantha and the one who was trusted to fly with her, aside from Carow.

But then Michael asked for her, and not to assign her a task, but to ask for her advice. And Eloriel had to wonder if maybe they were starting to value her as a member of a team- if they could be considered a 'team' in the first place. It wasn't an unbelievable possibility, just one that caught her by surprise.

And she didn't know what to do with that, so here she was, sitting on a cliff, watching life go on.

It was different in Heaven, despite the similarities to Earth. The motions of the grass in the wind was somehow different, the shadows through the branches of trees, and way water rippled- it all felt a little off, just enough to notice if one had spent time in both places.

Back when Metatron was still in power, and Michael was working on the sidelines, Eloriel had been to Earth. She never stayed for long, just short trips to see how things were going. Not many angels grew bored with Heaven, but she had after quite a while and found the earthly activity to be far more appealing. Chocolate, Olympic games, all the inventions and ideas of the time- these were what caught her attention.

Until Metatron had the great idea of introducing humans to a guy who came to be known as Jesus. He claimed that this plan would eventually allow humans an easier way into Heaven. Eloriel didn't have much of an opinion at the time, but many angels were against this. There was no need to change the current system (although, few angels if any knew how the 'system' works), they said. And during this ordeal, no angels were allowed to Earth, and all angels on Earth were recalled to Heaven. Eloriel had been in Heaven at the time, content to listen to the rumors of the chaos. And when the plan inevitably backfired by enraging nearly every angel involved, Metatron left Heaven, and Michael took charge. Eloriel was okay with staying in Heaven if she had to, but then she heard, a thousand or so years later, that the archangels would be heading to Earth.

And  _that_ she had to see.

So yes, she had spent her fair share of time on Earth. And Heaven, well, she spent quite a while here as well. And all the subtle differences stuck out like a sore thumb.

As a result, she did what was always the same no matter where she went- she flew.

Flying, to be fair, actually was a bit different. It was far easier to fly in Heaven, where the air seemed to work with the wings as opposed to against them. She needed to rest far less and could fly higher. But the motion of her wings around her and the balance that she held was the same, and Eloriel relished in the feeling of air rushing by.

She allowed her natural sense of direction, the one that could always lead her home to Sector 1, to guide her. It had amused her, back on Earth, to learn that pigeons and other birds did something similar.

She could have gone somewhere like the Library, a place she could reach instantly no matter where in Heaven she was. But Eloriel needed to fly, so she spread her wings a bit wider, catching the wind on her feathers, and she left the cliff behind.

* * *

 

Raphael slid further into the water, his wings beating under the surface and making a flurry of small bubbles. He was up to his shoulders, now, and continued until only his head poked out from the top. His clothing was wet and heavy in the water around him, but he figured that wearing it when he went into the lake would wash both himself and his clothing at once- two birds, one stone.

He began to scrub at his arms with one hand, determined to rid it of dirt. The medical tent had finally been restocked, everything was cataloged properly, and he was covered in dust from digging in the corners of old supply rooms that came and went from the back of the tent as they pleased.

Raphael knew that the tent had a mind of its own sometimes when it came to size and room, but really wished that it would work  _with_ him for once.

He had a shower in his rooms, one large enough for his wings to spread out, one that rained water from above gently in a much hotter temperature than the lake water. But bathing in the lake gave him a sense of peace, and he needed to be in an open space at the moment, not cramped up somewhere again.

Shaking a leg, he began rubbing at a spot of dirt on his pants that wasn't leaving without a fight, but quickly abandoned the effort when another figure landed at the lake's edge.

"Raphael, dude, you realize you're wearing clothing, right?"

Raphael looked up and recognized the green-blue wings anywhere.

"I know, Gabriel, I figured I could wash the clothing and myself at once this way."

Gabriel pressed his lips together and nodded, watching with an eyebrow raised. He made a small 'mhmm' noise and spoke a few seconds later as Raphael struggled with the dirt. "And how's that working out?"

"It would be working out  _fine_ if this bit of-" Raphael lost his balance and tipped backward while holding onto his leg. His wings spread behind him and began flapping in an effort to right himself, but he was already headed under. A moment later, he emerged in sputters as water streamed down his face. Gabriel was grinning like this was the greatest entertainment he had seen in centuries.

"It's going fine, is it?" He laughed, "well, misery loves company, right?"

"What do you-"

Gabriel had already launched himself into the air, straightening his arms and narrowing his wings behind him. diving into the lake with a splash that soaked Raphael more than he already was. He screeched as Gabriel resurfaced, and shoved his arms in front of him to splash his brother.

Gabriel ducked. holding one wing in front of him defensively. "Wow, alright, be that way." He shot Raphael a sneaky grin and suddenly was beating his wings on the surface of the water, sending droplets scattering into the sky.

"I don't think you know what  _misery loves company_ means!" Raphael shouted over the din, "misery does  _not_ appreciate this sort of company!" 

"Of course I know what it means! I know things like that!"

"Right, well here's my brand new saying:  _Misery does not appreciate stupidity_."

Gabriel paused and tilted his head, thinking it over. "That's a horrible saying, it doesn't flow off the tongue at all." He was answered with a splash of water in his face, to which he only laughed again.

With their attacks of water now stopped, Raphael took the time to finally remove the dirt from his clothing. He began combing gently through the feathers of his wings, and Gabriel awkwardly pushed his way through the water to approach him.

"Turn around," he said.

"I got it-"

"Raphael, just let me help my brother out, alright?" He waited for Raphael to turn and began pouring water from his hands onto the wings, fixing ruffled feathers as he went.

"I don't need your help," Raphael said, despite accepting help as he spoke.

"I know," answered Gabriel, his fingers buried in green, "but I want to. I don't feel like I've been a good big brother."

"Since when do you care about that?" Asked Raphael, "You were created literally a moment before me. Not even that, since I don't think time had been created yet."

"Well, maybe I've spent too much time around Samantha. She told us a lot about the fond memories she has with her little sister Amy and I kind of... Want that."

Raphael turned his head as much as he could, ignored a plea of 'don't move' from Gabriel. "Gabe, we have plenty of fond memories. Like, billions of years of them."

"Oh, please, like we spoke to each other at all for the first eight billion. We were all just dicking around with the stars until the Milky Way got well underway. Remember how Father pretty much forced us to meet each other? His whole 'oh, you're brothers, stick together and be a family' speech? Before he told us that 'oh, by the way, I'm going to be making a lot more children now, have fun?' and then basically shoved us into the role of leading them?"

"Okay, you have a point, and I know that Father wasn't the best compared to modern-day parenting, but to be fair, the concept of parenting probably didn't exist then either."

Gabriel sighed, using a nail to gently scrape some sort of solidified gel off a feather. Raphael narrowed his eyes, keeping his head still. 

"You say you want to be closer as brothers.  _Fine_ , Gabriel, I'm not against that. But... Can it wait until after all this is over?"

Gabriel's hands stilled for a moment before resuming the repetitive motions of rinsing the wings. "Alright. I'll hold you to that, you know."

Raphael nodded, not surprised. "Yeah. I know you will."

* * *

 

_I never thought I'd want to be on Earth so badly._

Helping a mortal friend understand Heaven sounded like an intriguing task, at first, but it turned out to be more of a chore. Normally Eloriel would explain things, but she couldn't be found at the moment and Carow was in a small crisis of her own, according to the multiple angels who had witnessed her pacing the library with growing agitation. Raphael, to the best of his knowledge, was still stocking the tent, and Gabriel... Gabriel wasn't the best for explaining things, despite his way with words. He was too prone to wild tangents and stories mixed with sudden rants about something as mundane as the size of toothpaste tubes. Michael hadn't even been considered for the task, which was considered too menial for his undertaking.

So it fell to him, and now he was walking through the grass with Samantha at his side.

"And yeah," he said, continuing the explanation he was currently giving, "there are showers." Pausing, he looked at her as if in a new light, an idea making its way into his mind. "You know, there are many buildings in Heaven. Whenever one is made on Earth, another pops up somewhere here. Mostly the angels who live there earned it as a privilege, you see, since there's no monetary system here, but... we could see about getting you one."

The look of joy on Samantha's face nearly made the whole experience worth it. "Really? Do you think my house is somewhere here?"

"Probably not anywhere near here, but yes, although I'm afraid we don't have a system to track certain houses."

Samantha's expression fell, but only a fraction before it brightened again. "I'll take a different one, then. Oh, I do have another question, actually."

 _Of course_ _,_ thought Uriel.

"If Michael is sort of the leader here, and Gabriel's the 'Messenger' and Raphael's the 'Healer'... What's your thing?" She looked at him expectantly.

"My...  _thing._ " Uriel slowed his pace, giving the question serious thought. "Well, I help Michael lead the Host."

"That's a shared responsibility, then, doesn't count," Samantha said.

"Let me think... I teach the Captains and new recruits how to fight. I sometimes hold demonstrative matches for fledgling entertainment. My blades are like Michael's sword in the sense that I'm the only one who can wield them, so I have that going for me as well. I can also wield heavenly fire and I can use it to heal minor injury on myself."

"Define 'minor.'"

"Not too large and non-fatal injuries."

Samantha nodded with a satisfied expression, but curiosity pushed back into her eyes quickly. "Can I see?"

Uriel felt his shoulders square and tense up, and he kept walking. "I'd rather not."

"Oh." He could hear the faint disappointment in her voice. And then, wondering when he had become so... easily persuaded, he caved to the request, stopping in his tracks.

"Fine, just a bit." He held out a hand and allowed it to warm until his skin prickled like it was numbed from cold and the lines of his palm glowed white. Flames flickered up from them and whirled within his palm. They did not perform the gentle dance that most flames did, like those of a candle or match. These flames, small though they were, twisted and warred over his hand, clashing with each other and occasionally sending out a white spark that died as it fell from the heat. 

Uriel closed his hand as the flames got too high for comfort, and he forced the fire to retreat, the heat seeping back into him like a rush in his veins.

"That's  _amazing_ ," Samantha marveled, and Uriel felt a twinge of pride.

"Thank you," he said, although he couldn't quite agree with her analysis. The fire was sometimes too quick to jump from his control, and there had been too many times when he dug his nails into his palm, hands clenched against the flame that wanted to erupt. He knew too well how quickly it could burn through flesh and bone, and he always had the lingering fear that one day he wouldn't be able to keep it back, and one day his own brothers would burn because of his carelessness.

He told himself that his father wouldn't have given him a power he was not equipped to handle. That thought didn't help as much as it used to.

"Where are we going?" Samantha asked, "I mean, I don't mind walking, but I'm getting kind of hungry. You know, I've been in a state of being 'kind of hungry' for a while here. I think being in Heaven has somehow changed my need for food but I could  _really_ go for a chicken salad right now. There are fruit trees around, I know, and that helps, but fruit alone is not a balanced meal."

Uriel considered this. Angels in Heaven didn't really need to eat, and even on Earth they only ate after expending lots of energy. There was food in Heaven, but eating was seen as a hobby, like collecting rocks or photographing different kinds of moss.

"I'll see if I can find anything. Maybe one of the restaurants? I think a _McDonald's_ ended up somewhere in Sector 20."

Samantha looked for a moment like she was about to protest the idea of eating at  _McDonald's_ , but her mouth remained closed. 

"To answer your question, by the way, of where we're going, I thought I'd bring you somewhere where information is kept."

"I've already seen the Library, Uriel."

"Not there." He kept silent until they reached a cylindrical building, labeled with a sign as  _Center of Communications._ Uriel's hand lit up in red light and the door opened. Samantha followed, suddenly feeling like an intruder, or like she was back to being a new kid at Nursing School.

A skittish angel with pink wings stopped them. "Identification?" He held out a paper and a white feather. Uriel took it and signed his name, blood-red ink glowing gently. The angel held the paper to Samantha, who accepted them automatically. Once holding it, she looked at the feather, then rather awkwardly, not knowing what else to do, signed her name.

Nothing came from the feather. Uriel sighed and took it back. "I can sign for her."

"Er, Amristin said-"

"She's the only mortal in Heaven, Lonzael, she isn't hard to recognize and she's here specifically at the wish of Archangel Michael." He huffed and scribbled a rough 'Samantha' onto the paper. The ink was still red but glowing fainter than it had for his signature, and the English characters stood out against the Enochian symbols like a sore thumb.

He walked past Lonzael and Samantha continued, muttering a quick 'sorry' to him as they passed.

"You didn't have to be rude," she told him, suddenly appearing rather stern.

"I... Look, I'm sorry. That was not my intention. Lonzael is a bit empty-headed sometimes and tends to focus on only the security aspect of his job and nothing else. That's probably why he hasn't gotten a promotion in 8,000 years."

He led her down a corridor, passing doors from which talking and motion could be heard and continued down a few twists and turns until coming to a simple grey door with a sign that read  _Directory_. The sign was metal, and the English word had been hastily carved below the Enochian translation of it, likely at Michael's behest.

"The Center of Communications," Uriel explained as he opened the door, "also known as the Communications Center, or simple, Communications, functions as... Heaven's information desk, you could say. Its main official responsibilities include maintaining the language and monitoring correspondence to Earth and back. But it also functions as a place where information is recorded, kept, and relocated."

"Got it," Samantha said, her fingers trailing over the edge of a wood table stacked high with papers. "How do I find anything in here?"

"This place uses the same system the Library does," Uriel told her, motioning to an empty wood shelve, "but a bit different. Instead of a book title or author, you need to specify a set of data. For example," he placed a few fingers against the edge of the shelf, " _Yearly rates of angel born fledglings in the last 2,000 years._ "

With a noise like that of a turning page, a folder appeared on the shelf. Uriel flipped through it, allowing Samantha to see various charts and graphs.

"You can find articles as well. Heaven is a well-organized place, largely because angels who are bored or who desire to earn further privileges undertake projects and papers to busy themselves. You can find written reports of anything from wing-grooming techniques to optimal flying locations."

"Hmm." Samantha touched the wood and spoke. "Location of showers in Heaven." Her eyebrows raised when papers appeared in front of her. "Wow, someone's actually written that down?" She grabbed a paper and winced when she looked at it. "Uriel, this is in Enochian, I can't read it."

Uriel mentally cursed. "Right. Try specifying that you want it in English."

She gave him a funny sort of look, "it can do that?"

"Correspondence from Earth is sometimes written in a foreign language. The Center of Communications is able to translate any text."

"Amazing," Samantha breathed, reaching out to the shelf again. "The location of showers in Heaven. In English." The files vanished and were replaced with identical papers, ones that Samantha could read.

"If you don't mind being alone, I do have some other things I could be doing?" Uriel's statement twisted itself into a question without his meaning to.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said, waving a hand. "I could probably spend months here."

Uriel smiled. "I'll be back later if I don't hear from you in a while." Samantha only hummed in response, and he left.

* * *

 

With Uriel gone, Samantha quickly realized that the shelf could supply just about all the information she wanted.

And she also realized that there was information she wanted, but had never dared to ask.

The file of shower locations was quickly discarded as she phrased her next request, with a quick glance around to make sure she was the only one in the room. 

"A...  _concise_ History of the Archangel Michael, in English."

A file larger than than the shower one appeared, and Samantha lifted it from the shelf and brought it to the nearest table. Opening it up, she began to flip through it.

Most of the information confirmed what she already knew. He was literally old as time. The first angel ever created. He was the commander of the Heavenly Host and regarded sometimes as a 'Prince of Angels', a title that held little weight in Heaven where the system could be described as less of a monarchy and more of a questionably-benevolent dictatorship, in which the children of said dictator did most of the work for him.

Then there was information she didn't know. She had listened in on enough conversations back on Earth to know that Michael was close to Lucifer before the fall. But reading the events, presented as fact, as a different experience. Samantha read in earnest as the report taught her more than she even questioned. How the free will of the loyal angels was stripped to prevent another rebellion, and how the Archangels had little choice when it came to fighting their own brother. She read as it described Michael's triumph over Lucifer, as he severed his wings and cast him from Heaven, his supported falling alongside him.

And then she read of what happened since. Michael was changed after the First War and allowed the angel Metatron to take control. Metatron, it was explained in a footnote, had been promoted by God to the status of Archangel right when the war began, so that God could pass orders to the Host. With the angels in Heaven having no free will of their own, it seemed like their father was using them in a complex game of chess, directing them via Metatron.

And when Lucifer fell, the angels were given a semblance of free will. The ability to do as they wanted, so long as it didn't interfere with their father's plan.

This terrified Samantha. She recalled the time when Raphael admitted to being unable to clear her memories.

God  _wanted_ her to be involved in this war.

It was several long minutes before she could even begin to finish the reading.

The information about Michael working on the sidelines to support Heaven didn't surprise her, nor the reading of how he stepped back in charge after Metatrons disgrace. She heard that all from Eloriel and Carow already.

She was surprised, however, when she saw her name in the text. She did a double-take and read over the page.

_Two months after the start of the Second War, Archangel Michael returned from Earth bringing with him not only the other Archangels but also the angel Eloriel (of the choir Power, formerly one of the Cherubim) and a mortal woman named Samantha.*_

Samantha skipped to the footnote, seeing no other mention of her name on the page.

_*Samantha assisted Archangel Raphael as an Assistant Medic in the Battle of the Gates._

Samantha felt strangely proud to have a mention in the report and had to wonder who wrote it if it was this recent. Of course, knowing Heaven as she did by now, it was likely somehow automatically updated. She closed the file and set it back on the shelf, where it vanished.

Then she found another question, one that grew steadily, a burning ember in her heart being fanned. She touched the shelf.

"Changes in Heaven following the First War, in English."

Again, she soon held a file in her hands. This too, she opened without hesitation and began flipping through the contents.

The major change was the limited free will, followed by Metatron taking on the role of a leader. But it was the smaller things that caught Samantha's eye. Weapons being introduced to fledglings at an early age. Mandatory combat training, although, it seemed like that change was reversed a few thousand years later when Heaven relaxed a bit more. A search was sent out for angels who could 'See', which reminded Samantha of the fledgling Dara, who saw the past of others. Heaven had been searching for those who could see the future, then. Samantha assumed they weren't very successful. 

Other changes included regulations on contact with Earth, different policies for the education of fledglings, and lots of simple rules and decrees that wouldn't be out of place on Earth. Then the changes differed as what Samantha assumed was the 'Jesus idea' was put into actions. Angels were grounded to Heaven, save for a few like Gabriel and Metatron. The regulations and rules to follow became more strict, likely in an attempt to curb the anger and frustration of the angels. And then, in a cascade of recorded changed that were easy enough to follow, Samantha could see the exact moment everything backfired. The angels got angry. Michael took control. Metatron fled Heaven, leaving a power void that the Archangels denied any other angel access to.

And slowly, Heaven returned to normal. Samantha supposed that continuous existence spanning hundreds upon hundreds of millennia allowed a community to bounce back from anything, given enough time.

She wondered how long it would take for this 'Second War' to become just a mention in an old report as well.

Eventually, this file was put away as well. Samantha, her curiosity satiated, for now, got back on task and found a list of locations in Heaven that served food.

She was pleased to see one was located on the edge of Sector 3, not far from where she was, even if walking there would take a while.

There were worst ways, after all, to spend an afternoon.

* * *

 

Masiel was a bit lost. Not in the sense that she didn't know where she was- she was in Denver, Colorado. She was lost in the sense that she didn't know where to begin looking.

She was tasked with finding Metatron. And with, unfortunately, she had no clue where he was, how to find him, or how to appease the 5,000 restless angels with her.

She decided to separate them. Five angels were competent enough to lead alongside her: Tolenn, Ryskel, Zanthiel, Lim, and Raxa.

"Ryskel," she began, catching his attention. "I need you to take a group of 1,000 and search the states of the West Region. Zanthiel, you'll take the Midwest. Tolenn with take Southwest, Lim will take the Southeast, and Raxa, I want you to join me to cover the Northeast."

The angel named Raxa was quick to come to her side. She had scarlet red wings that flared with orange at the tips and were speckled with black spots here and there. Her hair was red to match, a sharp contrast to the dark tones of her skin. She wore a white choker necklace and a red and white striped shirt that Masiel thought was a bit tacky, but she kept her mouth shut. Raxa had a temper fiery as her wings, and Masiel didn't quite feel like testing it. In spite of her attitude, however, Raxa had a good eye and was quick to pick up on subtle changes in the environment, so Masiel wanted her by her side when they searched.

The group of angels quickly and efficiently split into smaller sections, and Masiel spoke up again.

"When you've finished a thorough search, return here and wait for the return of every group. If you find Metatron, observe him and send a team of fast fliers to find me and pass along the message. Do  _not_ interact with him."

The angels all nodded their understanding, and Masiel returned the gesture. "Then let us search," she proclaimed, and with a flash of indigo wings, she was airborne.

Raxa quickly followed her, performing a few twirls and loops in the sky. "So, captain," she raised a brow and crossed her arms as she flew, "you think we'll find him?"

Masiel frowned. "I can't say for certain. He's very likely somewhere on Earth, according to Archangel Uriel, so it's possible. Granted, we're only searching for one country right now. If this fails, we'll move on to South America."

"Canada would be closer."

"I'm aware. But I'd rather we search the colder regions of the world last, in case we find him before getting there."

"Are you sensitive to the cold?"

"Not really, like any other angel. That doesn't mean I like it, though. Makes my wings ache." Masiel sighed. "I was born just over a thousand years after the last ice age. Popped down to Earth to see what all the fuss was about, took one look at the ice still everywhere, and said 'no thanks, not for me.'"

Raxa laughed, "that's understandable." She looked at the ground passing below them. "Where are we going first, anyway?"

"Currently we're headed for Pennsylvania. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, to be more precise. That's where we can find the Bureau of State Library, one of the largest libraries in the state. From there, we'll check places of historical significance, especially ones with literary significance as well. Old libraries, museums, old churches... Places that could potentially call out to Metatron."

"Has it occurred to you, captain, that this would be easier if we could figure out  _why_ he went to Earth?"

"'Cause he was disgraced, everyone knows that."

"Yes, but-" Raxa paused to shift her position, catching a warmer breeze and riding over it- "But didn't he go to God first?"

"I was under the impression that he went to Earth  _instead_ of to Father."

"That doesn't make sense at all," scoffed Raxa, "he's technically an Archangel, his presence would have been felt on Earth, had he gone there right away. Because we can't sense him anywhere, on Earth or in Heaven, he's either with God or has a way to hide his quintessence from detection."

Masiel, at last, caught on. "And if there's evidence pointing to him being located on Earth-"

"Then he must have a way to hide, and probably has done so with help from our dad."

Masiel nearly landed then and there, but her wings weren't tiring and at this point moving on 'autopilot'. Her mind, however, took a few twists and free-falls through the implications.

"So... So God doesn't want us to find him?"

Raxa shrugged, flying a bit closer. "I can't say that, of course, no one really can say what Father actually wants from us. Best to assume we're going along with it no matter what since we probably are."

Masiel conceded to this point. "Fair enough. If he wants us to stop looking, he can tell us himself." 

* * *

 

Michael entered the Center of Communications for the second time that week.

"Amristin," he called, his voice echoing down the hall. There was no response. Michael took a few slow steps forward. He spun, checking the doors and listening attentively for noise. Where was that angel?

"Amristin," he tried again, "I got the letter."

A noise from behind sounded out- footsteps and a shuffling of papers. Michael pivoted and his wings flared, but he noticed the angel in front of him freeze like a deer in headlights.

"Amristin." His wings folded back together. "There you are. What is it you wanted to talk about?"

"Archangel Michael, greetings." Amristin gave him a thin-lipped smile. "One of the Record angels brought something to my attention that I think will aid or at least intrigue you." His hands were clasped in front of him, and Michael didn't fail to see the white knuckles of a tight grip. The two of them began to walk down the halls together, other angels darting from their path. Michael didn't respond to Amristin. He knew the angel would just show him.

They came to a descending spiral staircase and Michael tucked his wings in tight, the three sets pressed against each other. Walking down, they stopped three floors below and Amristin knocked on a door.

"Yarviel!" He waited and a few seconds later, the door was opened by an angel with wings of deep gray- nearly black- edged in a rust-brown color.

"Amristin." She noticed Michael and her eyes widened, but she made no other indication of surprise. "Archangel Michael. Please, come in."

They entered a room that had filing cabinets on nearly every vertical surface. The silver metal looked new, but Michael knew that this room had seen very little change in the past years. Yarviel gathered a cream-colored folder into her hands and held it flat on her palms out to Michael.

"This has the records of the interrogations that were conducted on the captured rebels after the battle, sir. I've been set in charge of looking through them and compiling information."

Michael spread the files out on the nearest table, sliding them apart with his hands to line them up.

"The amount of information we got isn't very helpful, I'm afraid. While we do have knowledge of how many remain on Earth, we don't know what they intend to do." She paused, making sure she held his attention. "But that's just it, sir. They refused to tell us what they plan. And not just within reason- Many of them were pushed beyond their breaking point. It was as if they physically  _could not_ speak of it."

"Can I see an example?"

Yarviel scanned the papers and pulled one to the center, pointing a finger to a passage. " _A_ refers to 'angel', which is how we keep the one who did the interrogation anonymous.  _X_ refers to the prisoner, who is also kept anonymous. Of course, their name can be found on top of the paper, but if the paper had to be given to someone not allowed access to that information, we can just remove the top of the paper this way."

Michael nodded and read where she had indicated.

_A: What do the rebels intend to do?_

_> X does not answer verbally but does tense up_

_A: If you tell me this, everything will be far easier. I just need to know what your plans are._

_**X** : Me? My plans were to live happy in Heaven, but [they laugh] that isn't going to happen, is it?_

_A: You don't need to be here forever. You may have a chance yet at life here, I just need to know-_

_**X** : No. I cannot tell you that._

_A: I can change that._

Michael didn't bother to read the descriptions of whatever techniques were used to extract information. What he found interesting, just as Yarviel did, was how the rebel referred to as  _X_ used the phrase 'cannot' as opposed to 'will not.'

"So perhaps there is similar magic here to that of Gabriel's," he said, "making a topic taboo."

"He can do that?"

"He's done it with words, before. Used to amuse himself by making my other brothers and I unable to say each other's names. He's never done it for phrases or topics, but I can only assume that he could." 

"Except, he's the only one with that ability."

"Yes," Michael said, though his mind was racing. "Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Yarviel, your name is?"

"It is, sir." She nodded and smiled, glad to be helpful.

"Thank you, Yarviel." Michael nodded to the other angel present. "And you, Amristin."

"Not a problem. I'll let you know if anything else comes up."

"Thank you. Please mark any further reports with similar occurrences." Satisfied that the situation had been resolved, Michael left the Center of Communications with more questions than he had started with, as well as a need to talk to Gabriel, if he could find him.

\---

Not that it was hard.

He was flying around for a bit of time in a spiral outward from Sector 1, scanning the ground below him, when he saw two distinct figures in a lake. Diving down, he turned and landed on the shore near them, now convinced in who he was seeing.

"What are you two doing?"

They looked at him. "I was helping Raphael with his wings," Gabriel said, "and he helped me with mine, but then we got... Distracted."

"I can see that," Michael said, noting the hair plastered to their faces with water. "Gabriel, I need to speak to you."

"You are speaking to me."

Michael didn't dignify that with a response, and instead tried his old tactic of manifesting his energy as twenty additional glowing eyes orbiting his head in a sort of macabre halo, all of them glowering at his brother. 

Gabriel groaned and waded to the shore. "Fine, if it's  _that_ important." He got out and sighed. "Too bad Uriel isn't here to dry me off. Remember that time he set your clothing on fire accidentally?"

"All too well. Gabriel, I'm glad you're in a good mood, but you're just stalling now, come on. Your clothing will dry when we fly."

"Fine." He waved at Raphael, "I'll see you later, brother." He shook the water from his wings and hurried to catch up to Michael, who was already airborne.

"What do you need to talk about?" He asked, and Michael sighed. 

"Wait until we get there." He continued to fly and by the time they reached his room at the top of the Residential Tower, Gabriel's clothing was indeed dry.

"Now you can tell me?"

Michael nodded. "Is it possible to put a taboo on topics?"

"On topics?" Gabriel frowned. "I've never tried. Let me try." He frowned in concentration. "I'm going to put a taboo on houses. Discussion of them, that is." He let out a stream of Enochian words.

 **"Eo edo ange 'salman' adphaht."** (Make speech within the thought of 'house' unspeakable.)

"Did you do it?" Michael asked, "I mean, is that it?"

"Should be!" Gabriel had an enthusiastic look. "Go on, try."

"Uh... We invited Samantha to- ...Sometimes newly married couples will look into getting... I'm trying to say-" Michael huffed in frustration. "It's a- ...Some-" He sighed. "Okay, it's working, can you remove it now?"

Gabriel nodded and muttered a similar phrase in Enochian. Michael narrowed his eyes.

"And I can talk about houses now- Excellent."

"So what's the point of all this anyway?" Asked Gabriel, sitting on the edge of the table. Michael glared, but he didn't move.

"The point is that I think something is keeping the rebel angels from spilling."

"Have you considered that they're just very dedicated?" Gabriel asked, his wings coming dangerously close to knocking a small statue of a dove off the table. 

"That could be the case, but... I don't know, Gabriel, something seems off."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Gabriel told him. "I mean, keep an eye on it, sure, but you worry about too much as it is. You need more sleep, Michael, Heaven can run without you for a few dozen hours."

"I don't think you realize how long a night of sleep is supposed to last."

"You know, Raphael said something similar to me this morning, except it was about a saying." Gabriel shrugged, and the statue by his wings got pushed further to the edge of the table. Michael's eyes flickered to it. 

"Well, think of someone who could put a taboo on something and has reason to want to, yeah?"

"Sure, sure." Gabriel smiled, pushing himself off the table. His wings extended behind him, and the statue of the bird went crashing down. Michael hissed in a breath of air and walked around the table. Gabriel shot him a nervous grin. "Uh, my bad?"

"Whatever." Michael picked up the chunks it broke into, far too tired to really care about a broken statue. "I have another lying around somewhere." That was a lie, and Gabriel likely knew it, but he didn't want his brother feeling bad.

"Right. I'll just go, then, unless you want to talk about anything else?"

"No, it's fine." Michael set aside the pieces. "Thanks, Gabriel."

* * *

 

Eloriel had noticed one thing in her silent contemplations.

Something that didn't make much sense, and ought to not be happening.

It started when she heard a small hissing noise as if water was escaping from a water balloon. She was seated on the ground by the residential tower, leaning up against the smooth marble surface. Her hands were playing with the grass below her, and the loose white blouse she wore ruffled in the breeze.

She was there because her room was grouped on the section of the tower for angels of the Power choir. And while she knew they were her rooms as much as any, it was annoying to have to make the adjustment. The other Cherubim, who were envious of her promotion, had messed up the transfer of her belongings from her old room to the new one, and everything was shuffled around with several pieces of furniture missing.

Eloriel didn't care much for the physical objects, but she was bothered by the changed appearance and found it more comforting to be around the parts of Heaven that had stayed the same. Now that the reconstruction in Sector 1 was finished, she could finally relax there.

The second sign that something was wrong appeared when she tried to grab a peach from one of the nearby trees. They bore fruit year-round, and although eating was a choice for angels, it was nice to have something tasty available for when the urge struck. Eloriel plucked a peach from the branches with a practiced twist and brought it to her mouth.

Then she froze. The fruit was grayed and rotting. She dropped it, unsure what to think. Heaven didn't have rot in it, did it? She reached for another one and turned it around in her grip, only to find the hissing noise louder in her hands and the peach shriveling in her grasp.

This one, too, she dropped in a panic, then spread her wings before she could think, flying upwards.

She knew Carow's room by the books on the balcony. Landing between several stacks, she called out to her friend.

"Carow?"

A familiar face peered out from a small side room, brightening. "Eloriel, hey! I just got a punching bag added to my room. I've had a hard time being still lately. What's up?"

Eloriel quickly recounted how the peach had died in her hand, and Carow nodded, all five of her eyes narrowed in consideration.

"Right. That's not entirely unusual. I mean, it's happened to others." She grabbed Eloriel's hands before Eloriel could pull away, and spread out the fingers in her hand. "Right. What were you upset about?"

"Upset about?" Eloriel was a bit taken aback. "I mean, the Cherubim were a bit rude and messed with my belongings-"

"Got it. Eloriel, you're manifesting an ability not uncommon to angels of the Power choir. The idea is that in battle, you'll be able to poison someone with just a touch, or at least cause the decay of their skin."

"Ew." Eloriel snatched her hand away, shaking it a bit. "That's disgusting. But even if that's the case, and I agree that it probably is, how do I... Avoid rotting every piece of fruit I touch?"

"Well, first of all, you have to have control over your emotions."

Eloriel pulled a face, the sort that implied she found the notion of self-control more disgusting than decaying flesh. This was not true, of course, but her facial expression said otherwise. "I'm not very good at that. I once transformed into the full angelic form when I was pissed at Michael."

Carow blinked every eye in unison, several times, as she contemplated what in Heaven and on Earth made her friend decide to be openly pissed at Michael. She shook her head slightly, putting the thought aside.

"Well, you'll have to learn somehow."

"Right. Any idea why I'm getting this now?"

Carow stared into the distance for a good minute, lost in thought. "Well... Angels who end up with abilities usually manifest them a month or so after creation or birth, and it's more common in those who are born from other angels, but not by a lot so no one really knows if there's a reason or it's just coincidence."

"Could you keep the tangents to a minimum?"

Carow grinned, "I'll try. Let's see... Did you have any abilities before?"

"Only the ability to make a fool out of myself on occasion. I roped you into covering the Library stairs in ice that one time, remember?"

"That was  _fantastic_." Carow laughed, and then put on a fake serious expression. "Tangents to a minimum, remember?"

"Right."

"So you didn't have any previous abilities... Oh!" She looked delighted, looking at Eloriel. "You got the promotion on Earth, right?"

"Yeah, because I guess since Uriel was going to Heaven to train angels, they needed someone with close to his power on Earth in case something went wrong when he wasn't there."

"Okay, so, here's what I'm thinking. Changing choirs caused an ability linked to the Power choir to manifest. It's been about a month or so since the promotion, right? So now, around the time you normally would if you had been born into the choir, you're developing an ability. Kind of like how that fledgling Dara can see the past, I mean, she probably started doing that at a month's age as well."

"Got it." Eloriel sighed, "So I just have to work on controlling myself."

"Correct. Don't give me that sad look, Eloriel, I know you're capable of doing it."

Eloriel only bid her farewell and left the room, heading upwards to her own residence from the section of rooms for those of the Virtue choir. She was a bit conflicted, still, on what this meant. On one hand, she had a potential weapon in any future battles, and Eloriel was certain that there  _would_ be another battle, eventually. But on the other hand, she had the ability to destroy living tissue when she touched it, just by losing control of her emotions.

She didn't quite know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder that the choirs of Heaven are basically ranks/job descriptions for the angels in Heaven. A wonderfully drawn infographic can be found here: https://threewingedkingdoms.tumblr.com/post/153741224819 
> 
> The order I put them in for this story is:  
> Angels (at the top but used as an umbrella term, not a formal rank)  
> Archangels < Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, Metatron - Lucifer was one before he fell.  
> Principalities  
> Powers < Eloriel  
> Virtues < Carow  
> Dominions  
> Cherubim  
> Throne  
> Seraphim
> 
> (The order I have put these in is basically the reverse of what they normally are)
> 
> The angel Raxa's appearance is based off 'Dysdercus cingulatus' and other insects of the family 'Pyrrhocoridae' because one sort of bug within this family is called 'Raxa.' You can find more info by searching 'Raxa' on Wikipedia and clicking the links from there.
> 
> Thank you for reading Heaven on Earth! I'm very excited about the following chapters I'll be writing, and I've been planning out the end of this story, although there is still more to go before then.  
> Please leave a kudos or comment if you've enjoyed!


	20. Gifts of Song and Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Metatron continues. Angels sing. Eloriel trains more in the use of her power, Samantha ponders the implications of being in Heaven for so long, and Raphael reflects on past changes.

"I'll admit, that was a waste of time."

Masiel glared at the angel next to her, but her frown twitched into an amused smile. "I think you just don't like children."

"Human children are so..." Raxa struggled to find the right word and promptly gave up. "Small! And they leak from their faces and they smell weird!"

"That's what you get for lingering too long at the playground. I told you to hurry up, but  _no,_ you had to see if that was someone screaming in pain or not."

"Human children are also loud."

"What an astute observation! I knew I had a good reason to bring you along!" Masiel smiled teasingly and Raxa just turned away.

"Where to now, then?"

"I thought we could talk to the locals and see if anyone knows places of good literary history."

"You want to knock on doors and ask people where literature nerds hang out? We aren't hipsters, we're angels."

Masiel groaned. It wasn't the best plan, sure, but she was at a loss for ideas. Finding out that God may not even want them to find Metatron, making the entire search pointless, hadn't helped at all. 

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Sure do, captain." Raxa pointed downward. "Over there, at 10 o'clock. My idea is that we visit churches and ask what they know about Metatron."

"How will that help us find him?"

Raxa grinned. "Remember the ego of that guy? He'd probably be drawn to places like statues of himself like a fledgling to an open cliff. So much for no false idols, huh? Anyways, if there's any kind of building that reminds him of himself, he'd probably be there. I figured it would be better than knocking on doors."

"No, no, you're right," Masiel assured her, wings already carrying her down. "We'll give it a shot."

They both descended and landed on the sidewalk in front of the church. There were several people around, but they all ignored the wings, as most humans did. Of course, Samantha is the main- and so far the only- exception in the modern times.

"Two angels walk into a church. This sounds like the start of a bad joke. Not even a really funny one."

Masiel elbowed Raxa, prompting her into silence as they crossed the threshold of the building.

Their eyes widened as both angels felt a strange sensation, like sand running through their feathers as if it was water. Masiel felt her feathers puffing out, and noticed that Raxa's had done the same. It tickled down her wings, and she beat them several times in the air.

"That's unusual," she commented.

"Maybe it is. Neither of us has been in a church before, save for those that were already in Heaven." Raxa followed Masiel, hesitantly, further into the church. She looked at the stained glass windows and had to stifle a laugh.

"Hmm?" Masiel looked over, wondering if Raxa said something. She was directed by a pointed finger to the window.

It was Michael, she could tell by the sword and the pose, the figure standing over a serpent. But it looked nothing like what she knew him to appear as. For one, he was shown here with red wings, instead of deep blue. And secondly, his overall appearance...

"He looks more like Uriel here," she said aloud. "Except... The hair is different. And he's far less attractive."

"Did you just call Archangel Uriel attractive?"

Masiel scoffed. "Like you haven't? He's good looking, yes."

"I like the snake," Raxa said, "I mean, I dunno what  _he_ looked like, but I know that he would have looked 50 times cooler if he could, like, turn into a snake. Or a dragon!"

"Dragons aren't real."

"Well obviously not, if he never bothered to turn into one."

 _Probably for the best_ , Masiel thought. If Lucifer could turn into a dragon, she doubted that any angel would still be alive.

Footsteps echoed behind them, and they turned, bumping wings until they were folded behind him.

"Can I help you two ladies?" A man with brown, sleek hair and stubble on his face was looking at them with interest, his clothing indicating that he was a priest. Masiel nodded.

"Yes, Father." She smiled, hoping he would be willing to help. This plan was far better than her own, she had to admit, and the idea of knocking on doors was, in comparison, seeming more and more of a pathetic attempt. "We're trying to get information on an angel, and we thought that a church would be a good place to go."

"Which angel? There are quite a few."

"Oh, uh, Metatron."

"Metatron?" The priest pondered the name. "Well, I do know of him. See, he isn't an angel from the Bible, rather, from Judaic and Islamic literature. I did learn a bit of him in the religion classes I took in college, but I'm afraid I couldn't tell you much, my memory is not all there."

"Thank you anyways, Father. Out of curiosity," Masiel glanced at the window behind them. "What do you know about Michael?"

"He's one of the archangels in Heaven, and he was the one who banished the Devil from the Heaven. He is seen as a healer and a protector. He's come to be seen as a saint, actually, which is rather interesting, but then, most angels have."

Raxa nodded in agreement, like not to the 'most angels have' statement, but rather the observation being noted as interesting. "Thanks, Father. We'll be on our way now."

"Do you live around here? I haven't seen your faces before," he said quickly before they could go.

"We're just passing by," Masiel told him, stretching her wings out with the strange sand feeling still running through them. "It's good to meet new faces around town, though."

Raxa had already been heading for the exit, but she stopped before the threshold. She was looking into what seemed to be a sink, a look of confusion on her face.

"What's this?" She asked, and the priest walked over, peering in. Water was held in the container, and he looked at Raxa for a moment as if he didn't understand her confusion.

"It's holy water."

"No, it's not."

Masiel was groaning in her head.  _Shut_ up _, Raxa!_

"Er, excuse me?" The priest straightened. "I don't understand."

Masiel was close enough to tell that Raxa was right. The water in Heaven had a sense of belonging to Heaven, of being present in such a place, and this water distinctly lacked such a feeling. It felt, truly, like any other water source on Earth. 

_Still, that doesn't mean Raxa can be an idiot and point it out to him!_

"It's..." Raxa waved her hands a bit, thinking. "Normal water... Doesn't feel holy to me." She glanced at his concerned gaze. "No offense, Father, I just want to make you aware."

"That the holy water... Doesn't feel holy?"

"Exactly." Raxa nodded. "That's okay, though, I can fix it." She swung her wings around to encircle the water and murmured, under her breath,  **"Ol ne."** (Make holy)

A touch of orange, barely visible, jumped from the hand she held out to the water. It fizzed for a moment like a shaken bottle of soda but returned to being still and glassy in appearance. It remained the same, really, but Masiel could feel the distinct presence of the water as if a small bit of Heaven had been mixed into it.

"I fixed it, Father," Raxa informed the priest, who was sitting there, stunned.

"We really ought to be going now..." Masiel took Raxa by the arm, and said to her in a lower tone, "That was unnecessary."

They were nearly out the door when the priest, whose name Masiel felt a bit bad for never asking, called out what Masiel was hoping he wouldn't.

"Are you angels?"

Masiel froze. This was not covered in her training. She looked back and saw his face riddled with tension, far too much of it for someone who, now that she realized it, was rather young. She didn't nod or shake her head in acknowledgment of the question. She only shrugged, even as she sent out a burst of angelic energy with the intent of calming him, something she had only ever done several times before when her partners in training got riled up.

"You'll have to answer that for yourself, Father. That's a part of having faith, right?" She followed Raxa as they left, leaving behind them a rather stunned priest and a container of angel-certified holy water.

* * *

 

"We have a situation." Uriel walked down the path next to Samantha.

"A situation?" Samantha grew worried, thinking of everything from Gabriel losing his horn to the next battle starting immediately. "Is everything alright?"

"For the most part, yes. Eloriel just somehow manifested a new power and is understandably a bit freaked out."

"Why, what happened, what can she do? What  _did_ she do?"

"Rotting some fruit beneath her fingertips, from what I heard." Uriel spotted the silver wings glinting in the sun and sped up his pace. "Eloriel, what's going on?"

She looked at him, a touch more pale than usual. "I... I wanted to eat a peach but when I touched it, it just..." She grabbed a peach from the tree next to her and thrust it out, displayed on an open palm. Where her fingers had touched it, the flesh shriveled and grayed.

"And Carow said something about your promotion, is that right?"

"Right."

"Interesting. I'll have to get Michael to confirm this, but I think I understand what's happened. Most angels have abilities of one sort or the other, but these abilities can only manifest when the angel has enough power to sustain having them. If you had this ability to decay things when you were of the Cherubim choir, you would end up rotting your own flesh."

"I didn't need that mental image," Eloriel grimaced.

"It wouldn't be pretty, no. When you got your promotion, you had the power to begin developing this skill, but that takes a few months, so the timing just happened to have it occurring now."

"Great, but now what? I really don't want to have to pay constant attention to what I'm using it on or not."

 "You do what all new fledglings do, that is, you train. I'll find one of the captains-"

"Uriel!" Eloriel protested immediately. She hesitated, as if not sure whether or not to regret her outburst. "Archangel Uriel, that's really not necessary, the captains are busy, I'm sure-"

"Eloriel, I hope you can understand this when I tell you that you're a friend of mine. We've known each other for a few months now, I trust you, and I definitely have no qualms against making sure you get good training. Let me do this for you. Please." He held eye contact with her as if that could impart a sense of how he genuinely cared for her at this point in time, how he wanted her to be safe.

Eloriel sighed, nodding her head in consent. "Alright, then. Which ones would be best?"

"I'd say... Jasiel, probably. She's a bit tougher than the others, and she may complain about having to train you, but I think she'd do the best job of it." Uriel was going through each option in his mind. Jasiel would protest, of course, saying that training a few minted Power wasn't worth her time, but she knew the most of abilities like these. Amiel was all talk, little train, and Serenadael... She was well-meaning, but Uriel was worried that she'd get too distracted by Eloriel. It would have to be Jasiel, then.

"I trust your decision," Eloriel told him, seeming to sense his thorough pondering. She looked at Samantha like she had just noticed that she was here. "Samantha, how are you doing? I know we haven't spoken in a while, I've been... Coping with things."

"That's understandable," Samantha said quickly. "So have I. It's gotten easier but... None of this is Earth, you know? And I don't think I'm ever going to forget this, not unless someone really messes with my mind, but even then... I won't really be able to talk about it on Earth. No one's going to believe me when I start speaking of angels and war. I'm fighting with you guys for the sake of humanity, for the sake of my sister and my nephew,  _whose name I don't even know_ , and it's all a bit overwhelming sometimes." She blinked moisture from her eyes. "I suppose I should have just answered with 'I'm fine', right?"

"No one said you have to," Uriel said. 

"I do still have this, though." Samantha perked up and pulled a piece of fabric from her pocket. Uriel took it from her and inspected it. The green color and symbol of a snake curled around a staff both instantly told him that he was holding the armband Samantha had worn in the medical tent.

"I didn't realize you've kept it," he responded, handing it back to her. Samantha carefully folded it up and tucked it in her pocket.

"Sometimes I need to remind myself that it hasn't all just been a dream," she said. "Hey, when Eloriel trains with Jasiel, can I watch?"

"Watch?" Uriel was surprised. It didn't seem to him like something that was worth watching, but then, Samantha still seemed amazed by the colorful collage of angels flocking around the Residential Tower. "I suppose so. Eloriel, do you have anything planned for the rest of the day? I'm willing to bring you to her as soon as possible."

"No, I mean... I was hoping to meet with Carow and help her sort through her old books, but she'll understand if I have to put that aside. This is more important."

"Good. Take Samantha and follow me." Uriel grabbed a peach from the tree beside them and held it carefully.

Samantha walked to Eloriel, who carefully secured her arms around her. Uriel took to the air and waited for Eloriel to follow, and then began to fly west, where the sun was starting to dip in the sky.

"This is way easier in Heaven!" He heard Eloriel exclaimed to Samantha, who replied in words he couldn't catch on the wind. He continued flying, passing over the medical tent and to the sectors beyond that.

Time in Heaven felt more like irregularly moving ketchup than a liquid passing by, but it took about five minutes of flight before they reached a group of angels under the shade of large trees with leaves that looked like frosted glass. Uriel descended, landing by the side of the small clearing, and Eloriel followed as well, heavier strokes of her wing to compensate for the added weight. Uriel was already walking forward.

"Jasiel!"

She turned, her purple-brown wings spreading to the sides slightly. The copper net that covered her hair glittered as dappled rays of the sun fell over it. In her right hand, she clutched a sword that shone with fresh-forged metal.

"Uriel," she smiled, "it's good to see you."

"You as well, Jasiel. New sword?"

"Got it last week. The old one is on display in the Archives now."

"As it should be, not many blades have seen such history. I come here hoping to ask a favor of you."

Jasiel glanced at Samantha and Eloriel, who were gathered behind him. Samantha stood in front of Eloriel's wings as if they could swing around her at the first sign of danger. "Does the favor involve the human or this angel here?"

"I was hoping you could train the angel. Jasiel, this is Eloriel. Eloriel, this is Captain Jasiel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Eloriel held out a hand, that Jasiel slowly accepted, looking at Eloriel with a critical eye. She didn't return the greeting, and Eloriel let go of her hand.

"Why should a Power need to be trained? Is she not already proficient in fighting?"

"Power is just the problem. She's manifested a new ability. Several months ago, she was promoted from Cherubim to Power, and as a result, the dormant ability within her began to grow. Now it's shown itself and she needs to be trained in it."

"Well, it better be impressive if you're dragging her to me." Jasiel looked at Eloriel. "Care to show me?"

Uriel held out his hand, the peach within it. Glancing at Jasiel, as if to make sure she was watching, Eloriel took it from him. Moments later, the peach was a gray sludge dripping onto the grass.

Jasiel didn't look shocked, but one of her eyebrows raised beneath uneven bangs. "Alright. You realize that to train her, I'll have to put aside the training of all these other angels?"

"I'm willing to step in to help them if they need it, but I was hoping your volunteers would be able to handle it."

Looking behind her, Jasiel scoffed. "I doubt it."

"That may be so, but you also hold rather high standards for everyone. Do they know the basic motions, defense, and attack drills?"

"Well, yes..."

"Then they're adequate. Will you train Eloriel?"

"Alright." Jasiel smiled when Uriel openly showed his shock at how fast she agreed. "Don't give me that look, it may just be interesting enough to make my time worth it. And if not, I'll just dump her back on you."

"You better not," Uriel grumbled. "Right, I'll be off then. Oh, and one more thing," he leaned in, whispering into her ear. "I don't want a shred of harm to come to the human. She is here to observe, and she doesn't know all there is to know about us and Heaven yet. Be kind to her."

"Yeah, sure," she said, drawing away, but he didn't let her.

"I mean it, Jasiel, or I'll be speaking to you in less favorable conditions."

Her eyes slid sideways, meeting his. "Yes, sir, I understand."

He pulled back and gave them all a friendly wave. Jasiel was already giving instructions as he left, telling Eloriel to take a fighting stance and Samantha to sit a minimum of 50 feet away. Their voices faded out as he rose in the air, and soon they were left far behind him.

* * *

 

The first time he ever walked through these doors, 14 billion years ago, Michael was a child, newly made, eager to explore what his father had created. Besides him were his brothers, though they were more like acquaintances at the time. Wings too large for their bodies, still room to grow into the roles they were made for. They didn't know each other well then. Most of them would later go on to spent a few billion years playing in stardust, toying around with creation and stretching constellations through the sky, forging nebulas from their own hands. But in the beginning, they were brothers as they always had been and always would be, save for the exception of Lucifer. And there was plenty, even back then, for them to explore together.

~

_A flurry of Enochian speech burst from his brother's lips."It's so big in here!" A small Uriel flew upward in hasty, uneven flaps. Michael followed him, a bit more graceful, but only because he spent so much time practicing. He soared in a large circle around the perimeter of the room, which stretched upwards so high he couldn't see a ceiling. The walls were white and glowing slightly as if the sun was shining through the walls despite the lack of glass. Lucifer was flying around the edges, a hand outstretched into the light._

_Gabriel took a special delight in how the room echoed his words back to him. "Hello!" A chorus of 'hello's rang back at him. Raphael was grinning, looking around as if he could find the source of the repeated words._

_"Father," Michael was saying, hovering in place as he turned around in awe, "what is this place for?"_

_And when God spoke to them, it was in neither Enochian or any others yet to be invented language, it was in a deep humming noise that ingrained his words into their minds, that spoke to them as if the words were ones they already knew. Michael could feel it within him, fluttering in his chest as if small wings beat against his skin. He knew then that the purpose of the room was for singing, and that they would know how to sing, and their fellow angels, that soon would join them, would sing as well._

_"What's the singing for?" Gabriel managed a small loop in the air, nearly losing his balance. "I like singing. I think I do. I don't think I've ever sung before but it seems like the sort of thing I like."_

_The fluttering and the hum in his chest quickened, and Michael felt a strange sensation in his chest moving upwards. With understanding, he allowed the noises to come from his mouth, high and low sounds that nearly mimicked the humming tone of their father, but with the subtle patterns of Enochian speech, and the fluidity to change pace and tone. Gabriel stared at Michael, and then let out a whoop of joy and responded with his own song._

_The music seemed to touch at Michael the way his father's voice did. It was a sense of knowing, so strongly wrapped around him that he felt nearly lifted with the force of Gabriel's happiness. Raphael joined in, in a slightly deeper tone that paired with Gabriel's voice in a way that there wasn't yet a word to describe. Michael resumed his song, and Uriel joined after, rich warm notes floating up. With a melody that sounded like chimes, clear as crystal, Lucifer sang with them, and all five brothers began to fly in unison, their patterns led by the music._

_~_

Alone in the center of the room, Michael had no problem remembering the song, that nearly brought tears to his eyes. There was no one else in the Song Room, there hadn't been for a while. The harmonies had been deemed less important than the war effort, and for the past several months Heaven had been without music.

And that was the root of the problem. Michael had been thinking plenty in the past couple of days, about the moral of Heaven and why, even now, no one seemed content. And then he got to thinking about the Center of Communications and how quickly everything there went from the chaos of battle to everyday routine. And that's the solution, right there: Routine. Upon creation or birth, angels naturally fell into a role. It could be anything from a job, a personality, or a passion, but all angels knew what they were trying to do in their eternity alive. The sense of routine and order was important to them. And since the second war began, the routine had been thrown off balance, scattered into the wind, alongside the music of Heaven.

 _I need to reestablish the music_ , he thought. It was important for routine, for the happiness of Heaven, and it served to build a better sense of community, which was important in a land that extended outwards forever. He would have to set it all up again, of course, because no doubt some of the best singers had died in the battle. And he saw no reason for it to be exactly as it was before, with cascading circles of angels organized by Choir and age, then further separated by the range of their voice, so as to bounce harmonies back and forth, echoing perfectly through the room. No, there really was no reason for it to be that precise. Routine was one thing, of course, but Michael thought that the Song Room should be more open, a place for anyone a part of the song to fly around and express themselves through motion as well as sound.

He should have been thinking about how he could get angels back to the Song Room in the first place before he started on all of that, however. Surely plenty would be willing, after all. But something distracted him, pushed at him to do otherwise. Michael traced a hand over the wall and skimmed it along the smooth surface as he flew upwards. He had memories here, a recollection of a time when Heaven felt more complete than it was now, a time when his father was still present. He hadn't felt his presence since the battle, and Michael had the sinking feeling that without the worry of one of his children dying, God had left Heaven and moved on to another planet, another realm.

Michael shook the feeling from his head as if dislodging water from his ears. He didn't want to worry about that right now. 

And still, the nostalgia, the memories of this room, all urged him to give something back to Heaven, after all that they had lost. Michael slowly descended further into the room, then spread his wings wide as they could, the light in the room bouncing off of them in blue rays, and he  _sang._

_And when Michael sang, Heaven listened._

Angels found themselves surprised by the faint thrumming of the air as if an old machine was waking up. For most angels, music used to be background noise, never really noticed until it was gone. But they had all become used to the quiet, and the energy that began to slowly pulse over the sectors was something revitalizing and moving in a way it wasn't before.

In the Song Room, Michael sang of peace. He poured out his emotions of a time millions of years ago when angels flocked over Earth and had nothing but love for creation. He sang of years going by and changes happening, he sang of billions of memories and moments that wove together, and eventually, a voice harmonized with him.

Flying up from below was Gabriel, mouth open and voice steady, sharing his brother's experience. He lent his desires to the song, his love of music and his passion for speech, for all to know what was  _good_ , and what was _true_.

Another figure joined them, as Raphael rose, singing a tune of bittersweet knowledge, knowing that he and others had done their best no matter what had happened.

Called like a moth to a flame, Uriel followed, like a scattering of sparks, singing of the new experiences that had tried him, and of changes to his life.

Michael changed the tune, and his brothers followed. He spun out a melody of sorrow and grief, and outside the Song Room, where angels gathered and listened without daring to enter, clouds formed and rain fell. It was not a sorrowful rain, not like the song seemed to say. It was a rain of drops that felt like sunlight, a cleansing, healing storm. Because within the tower, Michael was healing.

His physical being flickered, and his angelic form began to show instead of it. The pure intentions that his father had placed within him. A glorious glow of love, and leadership, and the desire to seek the best for everyone. Twisting streaks of energy and a vibrant aura that was best called blue, as it seemed to encompass every shade of the color.

The rain over the Song Room spread, washing all of inhabited Heaven in its shower, and when the mourning stopped, it did as well.

Michael had no more physical vocal cords or throat, but his song was beyond those. His brothers were in similar forms, forms of  _knowledge_ and _fire_ and  _care_. Their song shifted again, the tune lighter now, and gentle, without the furious and determined intention it carried before. With soft, nearly crooning notes, they sang of the future, and of hope, and of a time when war would be a threat no more. Slowly, the light receding, Michael assumed his physical form once again.

The song had stopped. He stared at his brothers. They looked back. Having just shared emotions and thoughts in such a way, talking seemed pointless. Michael nodded his head, looking at each of his brothers in the eye in turn. They all shared the same notion and the same lingering grief. There had been a voice missing from their song.

Michael decided that anything else on his schedule could wait. He needed a while to himself.

* * *

 

The sparring had stopped. The trees had stood still, crystalline leaves dripping with water that sparked against Samantha's skin. Eloriel and Jasiel were both facing the same direction, and every angel that Samantha could see had their wings outstretched loosely.

Samantha, on the other hand, was sitting numbly where she was. Everything had been going fine until what felt like a shockwave carried over the land, and then she began to feel like her bones were buzzing. Her head didn't hurt, at least, as it normally did when Heaven made an impact on her- and Samantha had no doubt that this was another one of the many strange things about Heaven- but it did feel a bit fuzzy as if her skull had been filled with cotton balls. 

She slowly pushed herself to her feet, dusting grass from her legs. "What's that?" 

Eloriel's head snapped towards her as if startled, but she didn't seem alarmed. Instead, she seemed more relaxed than she had been since Samantha met her.

"The music is back," she said, "or at least, it's going to be." She trembled, leaning against her spear. "Everything's going to be alright."

"Uh..." Samantha didn't know how to respond. Eloriel sounded so convinced, utterly certain. "That's great, Eloriel. Another thing, though. Care to explain why everyone here just seemed to go through all five stages of grief at once?"

"Right," her friend said slowly. "Right. Well uh, the music, it's sort of a way to talk. And even though there aren't words to it, we understand it. And the song we all just heard was..." Eloriel shook her head. "I'm not sure how I can put it into words, assuming your language has words for it. It's about the past, the present, and the future. About all that we- Heaven- has faced, and about recovering."

"There hasn't been music in Heaven since this war started." Jasiel stood next to Eloriel now, seemingly recovered from the shock and emotion. "And speaking of war, we can't stop training just for a song." She paced back, and Eloriel followed. They were more alert, now, despite the obviously deep impact of what had occurred. Samantha didn't say anything. She didn't really feel like she had a cause to, let alone even the right to. Whatever happened, this  _song_ , it was something important to the angels, something holy, and certainly something that no human had ever really heard before.

Another drop of rain rolled off the leaves above her and splashed warmth against her skin. Out of curiosity, Samantha rolled the drop onto a finger and swiped it against her tongue. It tasted like sparkling water at first, but the aftertaste was something that didn't have a good word to describe, aside from bittersweet- not in the sense of emotion, but quite strictly describing the flavor.

Eloriel and Jasiel were still training. Jasiel had ventured briefly into the forest and gathered what looked like squishy purple coconuts, or enlarged grapes, that glowed faintly with deep violet light. Samantha was rather interested in what they tasted like, but they quickly turned unappetizing when Eloriel touched them. She had been practicing her control over it, and Jasiel using methods that Samantha wasn't sure she approved of entirely. Eloriel would rot the fruit she held when her emotions got out of check, so Jasiel was pacing around her intently, trying to provoke a reaction.

"And that promotion of yours? Worthless. It's obvious that they only gave it to you to win your favor. Why would they need a Power on Earth anyways? With three of them to be left, I doubt anything could get the upper hand on any of you in case of an attack. You didn't do anything to earn it. You sure as the stars in the sky don't deserve it. What did you ever do as a Cherub, hmm? Stick all four heads in the mud instead of just one?"

Eloriel was silent. She didn't appear to be straining to keep her power under control. The fruit sat intact in her hand.

"Now, surely you don't believe that they care for you. They're  _Archangels_ , Eloriel, no matter how far in the ranks you rise. They may let you forget, but others won't." Her sword was pointed at Eloriel, who followed it with her eyes. "Do you know why Lucifer fell, Eloriel? You weren't there like I was. I have been around far longer than you have. I have seen much more. Lucifer fell because he tried to usurp God. He tried to be higher." She leaned closer to Eloriel, her sword remaining level. "But that's not quite it. He wanted to be better than God because he thought he could create something better. He became obsessed with humanity and wanted not to love them equally as all of our father's creations, but to love them more, to the point where he wanted to go against their own free will to make them into what he thought was more perfect than our father ever could."

Eloriel watched with narrowed eyes, and Samantha could see her starting to strain. Her head was lowering in fatigue, her hands shaking.

"Some will tell you that he fell because he refused to love humanity. No, he just loved them too much. What do you think, Eloriel, when all this is over, will be said of you for befriending a human? Do you think you'll get away with favoring a human over the other creatures, or one human over the others?"

"Archangel Michael and the others have as well."

"Have they, now? Do you think, if you asked them whether or not she was their friend, they would respond in full honesty?" Jasiel shook her head. "You'd be lucky just to keep your wings."

The flesh of the fruit began to peel slightly. Jasiel continued as if she were unaware.

"You'll be lucky if your friend there keeps her memory, let alone her li-"

The fruit, which Samantha hadn't stopped staring at, exploded. Green-gray dust fell through the air where it once had been as Eloriel's head snapped up. Jasiel nodded, looking oddly at ease as if everything had happened the way she expected it to.

"That's it, then. That's what you're concerned about."

Eloriel looked at Jasiel, visibly shaken, her hands curling into fists. "If  _anyone_ lays a  _hand on her_ -"

"Don't be stupid, Eloriel. You know deep down that I was trying to provoke you, and that I didn't mean what I said. Aside from the part about Lucifer, of course, that's all true. You're going to be fine, and the human is going to be fine. You aren't the only one protecting her."

Samantha didn't hear what Eloriel said next, but Jasiel laughed.

"Me? No. I'll leave her alone, thanks. But when you said that others have befriended her, you weren't wrong." She spoke again, before Eloriel could, "go and rest, Eloriel. Be back in two days for another go at it." She sheathed her sword, turning her back to Eloriel in a tacit confirmation of the dismissal, and began to correct the posture of two sparring angels across the clearing.

Eloriel vanished her spear and shook the dust from her hand with a look of disgust. But when she walked to Samantha, her face brightened. "I think I'm improving," she said, "or at least, I'm better than I thought I was. It's nice to know that I can avoid decaying things when I'm calm."

"Let's hope you remain calm on the flight back, then," Samantha half-joked. Eloriel's face was stricken with sudden anxiety.

"Oh, I didn't even consider the danger of-"

"It's okay, it's okay, you said it yourself, you can control it when you're calm. Don't panic."

Eloriel took a few slow, deep breaths, and finally opened her arms. Samantha obligingly stepped between them, and they wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes as her feet left the ground, and she was careful to hold them away from Eloriel so they didn't bump legs. Flying like this was a strange sensation no matter how many times she did it, even if it was sometimes enjoyable. She could feel the moisture in the air from the rain, clinging to her hair and skin, and when Eloriel landed back by the Residential Tower, there was a slight sheen of condensation on her face that she wiped off onto one arm.

"You said you were going to help Carow with her books, right?" Samantha could have sworn that Eloriel had said something to that effect.

"Right."

"I'd like to help. If... If she'd be okay with that."

Eloriel nodded, taking Samantha into her arms again, and flying her upwards. They streaked past balconies, some empty, some full of conversing angels, and others with just one or two upon them, enjoying the view. Eloriel finally landed on one that had stacks of books on nearly every available surface. "This is even more of a mess than it was last time I saw it," she said quietly. Samantha moved passed her.

"Carow?"

A stack of books was knocked over and Samantha took a quick step back, not in the mood for a heavy volume of Latin encyclopedias to crush her feet. She couldn't help but wince as she recalled a similar situation she saw in the medical tent, where an angel's foot (and entire leg, actually) had been crushed and shattered by a blunt force.

Gray wings, scattered over the tips with black speckles, shifted out of the way and Carow peered at the stack with a regretful look. "I just moved that, how did I knock it over  _again_?" She looked up, all five eyes meeting Samantha's. "Hey, Samantha. Hey, Eloriel. Uriel stopped by- what a shock that was!- and told me that you were doing some sort of training for your new ability, which is good. You guys here to help with the books?"

"Yes..." Eloriel picked up a book and gave it a glance before setting it back down. "So, why, exactly, are you doing this? In the 3,000 years that I have known you, I don't think I've ever seen you sort through these."

"I got bored."

"You...  _You_ got bored? You don't just  _get bored_ , Carow. You stay up for days reading. What's happened?"

"Nothing, I swear!" She raised her hands defensively. "It's just... After the battle, I've found myself unable to sit still for long. I'm a bit more twitchy."

"Have you tried chewing gum?" Samantha asked. Carow looked at her with puzzlement. "It's just... When Amy was studying for school, she would chew gum while reading. She said it helped her concentrate."

"I'm not sure where I'd get some gum," Carow said. Samantha recalled how hard it was finding substantial food in Heaven, meat and grain and dairy. There was an abundance of fruit trees, but actual meals were best found in the scattered restaurants and cafes. Gum, on the other hand...

"Maybe a convenience store or a gas station," she suggested. "I'm sure there's got to be one around here, right?"

Carow nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that could work. I'll see if I can find one later. In the meantime, could you guys give me a hand?" She held something out to Samantha, who took them from her grip. Thin stone slabs were stacked in her arms, with symbols she didn't recognize scratched into them. They looked to be runic in nature, and some had a similarity to letters in the English alphabet, but she still couldn't read a word of the text.

"Where do you want these?"

"Under the table with the map," Carow motioned with a wing to the side, and Samantha carefully navigated around piles of leather-bound books to slide the slabs under the table, besides clay tablets and some old leather that had writing on it.

"How did you get all these books?" She asked, noticing the sheer amount of them for the first time. Books were in stacks, on shelves, under and over tables, acting as stands for small potted plants, and covering what was one a usable couch.

"Uh, I was born at a time when humans started writing and developing a written language, which fascinated me, so I started studying and transcribing their efforts. Eventually, it became way more advanced and I noticed that people were writing, like, stories and even songs, and I thought to myself, 'I've got to get my hands on these!' So I picked up a tablet here, a scroll there, and eventually, when I went to Earth I developed various personas to fit in, befriended writers of all kinds, and got my hands on all sorts of thing that were never published!"

"Isn't that..." Samantha couldn't find the right words. "I mean, do you know how many humans would love to find some of this? The possible discoveries that could have come from them?"

"You guys wouldn't have most of these anyways." Carow held up a roll of papyrus. "When the Library of Alexandria burned down, lots of them were lost. There were copies, sure, but not of everything. I'd say you have most of the important stuff."

Samantha doubted that heavily. She was a bit frustrated with her friend. As impressive as the collection was, it was a lot of knowledge that some of her old teachers from college and nursing school would do anything to get their hands on. And here she was, in  _Heaven_ , helping  _angels_ sort through it.

As she shuffled around books and sorted through papers that smelled like dust and paper and old leather, she couldn't help but think of Earth. She knew it had only been about a week or two on Earth, but she wanted to be with her sister again, with Amy's fiancé Brent. She realized with a saddened feeling that they couldn't even plan a wedding when there was a chance of Samantha having gone missing.

She'd have plenty of explaining to do when she got back. Assuming she survived this crazy ordeal.

"When do you think we'll go back to Earth?" She asked, not really realizing she had spoken until the words were already out, hanging in the room like looming storm clouds.

Carow looked up from where she was flipping through two books at once, her lower three eyes on one and the upper two on the other. "I haven't thought about it. I wasn't on Earth with you guys in the first place, but if you want me to join you and the Archangels allow it, then I wouldn't object to returning. I could get a few new books while I'm there."

"I don't know when we'll return. I don't know much about the battle to come, only that there will be one. More angels are being trained, you know, I saw Captain Amiel just the other day with a group. It would be ideal for the war to end after just two battles."

"I doubt it," Carow said. Then quickly, she added, "not to be a downer or anything. I just think it's unlikely that two battles make up a single war, even if we outnumber them. There's got to be, what, a few hundred rebels left? I don't know why they're bothering to train more of us."

"Unless there's something they aren't telling us," Samantha said. She exchanged silent glances with Eloriel, and for a while, no one spoke.

"Hey, Samantha, could you move these to the bottom shelf?" Carow handed her two books with gilded edges, thrusting them towards her in desperation to break the silence. Samantha nodded, moving them, and Carow gave her a hasty smile. "Thanks."

* * *

 

Raphael was surrounded by boxes and crates of old artifacts. He was looking for something in particular, that he had hidden away a long while back. This was different than the medical tent, without a single crate of bandages or sterilized instruments in his sight. He  _knew_ he would have dust in his feathers before he was done, and the thought put a small grimace on his face. Pressing onwards past a precariously balanced stack of small folders, he climbs over a box and found a dusty shelf. 

His memory finally came to him and he ducked down, checking the underside of the wood. An arrow scratched into the corner of it guided him to a large wall of crates. Raphael followed it to the corner, where he had enough room to climb over those as well. Finally, he stood in a small, poorly lit section of the large hall, a place that held, upon an old table, a bundle of fabric that had been wrapped around something.

Raphael gathered it into his hands. The fabric was what he had worn for the majority of the First War. It used to be light green, but faded to a more pale color and had been dirtied to the point where it remained mostly brown in many areas no matter how many times he washed it. It was clean aside from the stains, however, as Raphael had been meticulous about getting any present particles of blood, dirt- any contaminant as well, really- off of it.

Now, he carefully unrolled the fabric onto the table, spreading it out and now realizing how much fabric it was. Had he really been able to arrange that all onto himself somehow? He was very thankful to humans for finding better ways to wear clothes, more practical ways. Raphael laughed, glancing down at his jeans. Definitely an improvement, in his opinion. He unfolded the last few tangles of fabric and his fingers closed around what was held within them.

A dark brown staff, its polished shine wearing off in most places, that was a slight bit wider at the top and tapered down to the bottom. It had gone under several changes in the past. For a while, it was just a staff as it appeared now, straight and inconspicuous. In the First War, it had somehow manifested a snake to curl around it, and that had since then been the symbol of the medical tent and the armbands of the healer's and their assistants. The snake, Raphael thinks, was perhaps directly tied to his desire to have a fill-in for a brother who was his brother no longer, who he had to turn against. Or perhaps it came in the time of crisis to offer help to him, whispering into his ear reassurances that his hand was steady, that his power was strong.

And then, times changed, and after Lucifer fell to Earth, he began to cause trouble there, amongst the rebuilding civilizations at the dawn of humanity, encouraged the rise of things like war and violence, which they had known little of before. He claimed the symbol of the snake for himself, even if it was not yet an ill omen.

In the time now called under the umbrella name 'Ancient Greece,' Raphael had observed the rising medical practices, eager to study and learn from the humans. He hadn't been the most careful in hiding himself, and the people soon had stories spreading and the rise of a new god, a man with a snake around a staff who could heal the sick, give vision to the blind, and bestow cures and remedies through dreams. This man was not called Raphael, rather, they called him Asklêpios. 

And when Metatron tried to spread the news about angels and Heaven to the humans, via the figurehead of a man known as Jesus, Lucifer's snake began to be heavily associated with evil. The staff changed again, the snake fading and the top of the staff curving as if it were a shepherd's crook.

And when Michael took over Heaven, it changed again, to its original form of a simple staff. All this Raphael knew, even when he didn't have the staff on him at the time. It was a part of his thoughts, in the back of his mind. The only thing was, that was all it did. Save for the few times he used it, requested by Metatron for whatever scheme he had dreamed up, the staff lay dormant. He hadn't had its friendly presence in his mind, nudging him to learn more and study and grow into the purpose he was made for. The staff was just that: A staff.

Regardless, Raphael took it into his hands. It was a relief that he hadn't expected, to feel it again, it's weight and balance. He spun it in one hand so fast it became a blur, and then let it come to rest against the ground gently. He was so young when he had first received it, full of far more energy than he was now.

~

_"This is yours, Michael." Their father was a force that not even they could perceive in his entirety, and instead, he came to them as a pure light in the outline of a human, perfectly proportioned. His voice, which normally wasn't a 'voice', really, was understandable for this occasion, sounding like a mix of Raphael's voice and his brother's. Hands of radiant energy held out to him a silver sword, the hilt formed as outstretched wings, and a handle of deep blue leather. Michael took it, and it hummed in his hands as if it had music trapped in its blade. In turn, Michael thrust it upwards, and blue flames danced up and over it._

_"Thank you, Father," he said, bowing his head for a moment. He turned his gaze to the sword again, and the fire went out._

_"And this, Uriel," something new came into his hands, "this is yours."_

_Uriel reached into the light and pulled two knives from them. These, like the sword, sang to him, and he tossed one into the distance just to see it return to his hand. A smile grew on his face._

_"Thank you!" He said, a bit louder than he had to, and then looked a bit sheepish about it. God had moved from him to Gabriel, now, and was presenting him with something that none of the brothers had seen before. It was a small tube that flared out on one end and had a delicate handle on the top._

_"And this, Gabriel, you need no instruction in. You were made a messenger, and this shall be your means of communication. The people I will populate this planet," he motioned to the floating image of rocky terrain behind him, "will create many like it, and when they do, this shall assume those forms if you so wish it."_

_Gabriel raised it to his mouth and blew into the instrument. A deep, bellowing sound came out that swept across the room they stood in, bouncing off the walls and bathing them in sound. He had a look of glee on his face, his eyes alight with the possibilities._

_"Thank you," he said, a bit distracted by his reflection in the shining gold._

_Raphael was almost bouncing on his feet now, wondering what he would get._

_"This belongs to you, Raphael," God said to him, and Raphael was on the tips of his toes to see what would be given to him. He saw something, reached out, and grabbed it._

_"It's a..." He looked at it. There wasn't a word for it yet. "A smooth branch?"_

_"A_ staff _, Raphael."_

_"A staff." Raphael looked at it. "What does it do?" He hoped it would be something impressive. A simple branch- staff, rather- didn't really have the same impressive look at the gifts his brother's received. So far all he could do with it, as he was now, was change the size of it._

_"When you heal the people of this planet," God told him, "the staff takes your power and makes it stronger, guiding it, and allowing you to heal them with greater strength."_

_Raphael understood, or he thought he did, at any rate. It was okay that his staff wasn't as shiny as the weapons or the instrument. It didn't need to have any power of its own. Just him, his own power. Raphael resolved at that moment that he would give the staff as much of his power as he had to, in order to heal the people that his father would create. They were surely the most important things in creation. So long as he had the power to help them, he too would flourish._

~

Raphael knew the staff wasn't much good to him now. But he wanted to have it at his side anyways, something to remind himself that if he could heal so many others, he could heal as well from the past.

He pushed a bit of his power into the staff. He could never restore it to its glory, as that would use all his strength and he'd likely never recover, but he could give the staff the slightest bit of sentience again, the smallest bit of warmth to its wood.

Then he shrunk it down to the size of a pencil, and put it into his pocket, rolling up the fabric to leave on the table again. 

In his pocket, unnoticed, the staff changed to a new form, one it had never taken before, in a transformation that used all the power Raphael had just given it, in the hopes that it would be enough to guide him. The staff shuddered, strained, and changed: into a key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One month and 9000 words later... I'm back! And feeling very proud of myself. Updates from here on out may be slower and/or shorter, as I start school tomorrow and will have less time on my hands to write. This story remains important to me, however, and I assure you that I have plans to continue and finish it.
> 
> "If Metatron isn't in the Bible, why is he in this story?"  
> The simple and true answer: Because I think the scribe/voice of God is a fascinating role for a character to have and I wanted to include him in the story.  
> Thus, a quick reminder that this story is not canon to the Bible (or any other such books, I suppose), try as I do to keep events in order and true to their source as I can.
> 
> Thanks for reading Heaven on Earth!


End file.
